


it's gonna take a superman

by imdeansgirl



Series: my soul and yours are the same [4]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdeansgirl/pseuds/imdeansgirl
Summary: Farkle thinks this whole soulmate thing would be a lot easier without the superhero sidejob.((not abandoned i just have low work ethic))





	1. where have all the good men gone?

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all, guess who's back with, whoa, another soulmate au!!! this is def gonna be multi-chapter but idk how many - my estimate is seven to eight with chapters only being around ten pages. a couple of things before we start: 1. yes, i am making dave/yogi a thing. why? who knows. they seem really drawn to each other when i write, so i was just like screw it, they're going together. this is what the characters wanted, sharon. also as a little add on, every character listed in the tags talks/interacts at some point. there are other mentioned characters and some i might add in some to the plot eventually, but those listed are the ones who are definitely around. 2. this is not finished as i publish it, which is something i'm always very wary of doing, so the chapters are not gonna come out as quickly as droaidt did so... be prepared for like two weeks of hiatus occasionally. i've got college and shit man. 3. i've gotten some super sweet messages recently, and i just wanna say that every time someone comments or compliments me on any of this series i, uh, cry? thank you all so much!!!!! 4. that transitions me into my last point that, yes, this is fic is part of a series of [soulmate aus](https://archiveofourown.org/series/524785) featuring our two faves. however, none of the stories are related, and so you can pretty much read them in any order or not read some of them or not read any of them, hey, you do you boo boo. so anyway, just wanna say thanks, and that i'm super excited about this fic!!! if you wanna talk to me, im at [farklelucas](http://farklelucas.tumblr.com) on tumblr, and i'm officially off hiatus either tomorrow or the next day, idk. this is like the longest author's note i've ever written, shit. anyway, as a last plug, kudos/comments are always appreciated, and i hope you enjoy!

They’re called the “Young Super League.”

Maybe the original Super League was just getting old. Maybe they don’t have the time anymore. Either way, as time goes on, more and more of the government-sanctioned team of superheroes retire, and more and more members of their new group emerges. Of the original seven heroes, only two remain as of today. The new group, having begun nearly a year ago, has five current members. Rumors are spreading wildly amongst heroes and normies alike that the team is looking for two new members, wanting to resurrect the dynamic of the original seven heroes. Young heroes clamour to prove themselves to the remaining members, and adult heroes pray for their children to inherit powers, all in the hope that they will get the chance to join the League. Although just rumors, this will, eventually, be confirmed, once the next two heroes are selected. But that’s getting ahead of the story.

The whole thing really started around a year and a half ago when the beloved leader of the Super League, Flame, stepped down. The nation was completely devastated; after Commander Feeny had died in the World War III at the hands of Red Fist, Flame was the closest thing they had to look to for an authority figure, a hero. He was, after all, the eldest of the Super League, and had been taking on the position of second in command on missions since they were young teenagers. When he stepped down, asking for a normal life after the war, no one knew how the Super League was going to go on. To be fair, a lot of villains had been defeated in the war; Red Fist, Lady Loathly, Captain Demise. But the Super League was so much more than just an army (although they were that too); they kept peace with the heroic groups of other countries, not to mention kept track of and supervised all of the heroes listed on the national registry but not as a part of the League. They also worked as a patrol for major events, like New York City parades or visits from political figures, and served as a council for superhero-related crimes. On top of all that, they also fought local crime individually and took on more serious and dangerous crimes across the country as a team. So without Flame, who was regarded as a kind man and both a literal and metaphorical beacon of light, how were they to go on?

That, it seemed, was answered fairly quickly when a new member joined the Super League: Nightshade, a fifteen year old with a world of botany at her fingertips. There was outrage at the new addition to the team; how could they allow a fifteen-year-old to join such a powerful league of heroes, especially at the ranks of someone like Flame? The public rioted; Nightshade’s face was plastered all over the newspapers, headlines accusing the Super League of child abuse and neglect. That's when Seer, who had taken over in the absence of his brother Flame, made a statement to the press and released three very important and very pertinent facts to the public:

  1. He released Nightshade’s superhero examination scores, in which she had landed a 600 - a nearly impossible and nearly perfect score. The test was administered by the Superhero Administration and Acceptance Council on her fifteenth birthday, the official legal age to be a superhero in the United States, and Seer had the dates and test scores made public in the Official Registry of Superbly Abled People (ORSAP)’s Archives. It's not often that things like that are done, but in cases like these it's seen as acceptable.
  2. Seer also revealed that Nightshade was his and Zephyr’s daughter. It was pretty much assumed that they had children; Seer and Zephyr had been together since they were fifteen and just starting off in the Super League, when they (and the whole world) found out that they were soulmates during Zephyr’s induction ceremony. They were married only five years later, and in love ever since. It did not go unnoticed that Zephyr had disappeared from the public a few times over the years, so her pregnancy only makes sense. But no one knew that either of the children were superheroes, and no one knew that they would be good enough to join the League, let alone get a 600 on her superhero examination.
  3. Finally, he leaked information on a new project the League was heading. It didn't have a name just yet, but it involved the rise of heroic education and a new generation of superheroes.



After that, the public protests shut down and the newspapers ceased to mention Nightshade unless it was to congratulate her on her heroic efforts.

This was not the end of the new project, but only the beginning. Soon, about a month after Nightshade’s induction into the Super League, there was another hero accompanying them on their missions. She wore a dark maroon suit and a black eye mask, her hair up in a golden bun. Although for a while, she was shrouded in mystery to the public, an unnamed superhero with unknown powers, eventually the ORSAP released a press statement about her: her name is Black Shroud, and she's the second part of the project the Super League has been hatching for years. Unlike Nightshade, however, they did not release a full description of her powers; she is only listed as having extensive martial arts training. She’s around the same age as Nightshade, if not a little older, and the two are often seen together, whether on lookout duty or at the front of the battlefield. Shroud was also quickly inducted into the Super League, and that was the end of the uproar for two months until everything began quickly falling apart.

All at once, three new heroes were inducted, two more heroes from the original seven retired, and the name of the project was announced. The three new heroes all came within weeks of each other - first came Lightning, the first boy as a part of the new team. He’s the fastest hero they’ve seen in nearly fifty years, said the ORSAP, going all the way back to when the Super League didn’t even exist and all superheroes were considered rogue vigilantes. Lightning is known not only for his speed, but for his quick wit (pun intended) and kind attitude. Levita was next, a flur of fury and smarts and magic. Her ability to move objects with her mind made her an asset to the small team of teenagers. Quickly behind her was Mirage, a sad boy with kind eyes and a knack for trickery and illusion. During his induction ceremony, Mirage makes a swarm of butterflies appear and surround Zephyr, her face glowing and hair blowing in the wind of her own creation, looking majestic and beautiful surrounded by the insects. They were all quite a team indeed.

The day Mirage was inducted was the same day that, simultaneously, two more of the most beloved heroes in the world announced their retirement. The first was a man known as The Mighty Oak - America's friendliest strong man. Although he was once the “bad boy” of the group, over the years Mighty Oak had transformed from the seventeen-year-old that liked to taunt and tease his teammates to a man that the Super League could be proud to call their own. After a few years of training and serving in World War III, The Mighty Oak became almost gentle and loving off of the battlefield, volunteering for charities and helping firefighters lift the rubble of buildings in the aftermath of fires. He was strong, but Oak’s heart managed to be stronger. The second of the two to step down that day was Angel, one of the only heroes in history to be able not only to fly but to carry up to six people on her wingspan. Even though Zephyr may have been the League’s sweetheart - kind, ladylike, beautiful - Angel was their gem. She was refined, poised, elegant, and yet more deadly on the battlefield, with her extensive combat training, than nearly any of her teammates. She and Oak, however, decided it was time to call it quits - Angel moved out to a little island off the coast of California to pursue her dream of writing a novel, and Oak retired to Wisconsin, of all places, to open a dairy farm.

The very next day, a headline was printed in the newspaper that read:

“They're Called the ‘Young Super League.’”

All five kids and the four remaining originals lined the papers - Zephyr's brilliant white smile, Seer's kind dark eyes, Nightshade somehow a combination of them both. Girls were dying their hair shades of raven to try to match Levita, and boys were cutting their hair short and floppy like Mirage. Nearly a year after Flame's retirement, and things were finally calming after the storm.

And then Zephyr stepped down from her position.

Everyone was devastated once again. It was a girl they had watched grow up, from the time she was fifteen and she was inducted into the Super League. They had watched her graduate, college and high school. They had watched her become a wife, a mother, and overall a better hero. They had watched two soulmates meet on national television, and then watched them enter a battlefield hand-in-hand. And now she was stepping down. Unsurprisingly, there was much speculation about her true reason for stepping down. Some claimed she and Seer were seeking a divorce, and he got to keep the League and she got to keep the children. Others said that she was pregnant again, and wanted to step down to raise their child. Zephyr's official press report claimed she wished to remain home and spend time with their second child, and to help Nightshade study for classes when she can. But still, people wonder - what's really going on?

That was the end. Six months went by, and as the world mourned the loss of their favorite femme fatale, the Super League carried on like nothing had even happened. The team was led by Seer, who was accompanied by the two other remaining members and the five new children in the group. The Young Super League seemed more and more trained each and every day; Nightshade no longer even shamelessly zones out during press conferences anymore. In the meantime, the Super League retirees also remained busy. Flame ran for office; Angel released a tell-all memoir about her powers and how she got them; the Yelp reviews for Oak's farm continued to improve. No one heard much of anything at all from Zephyr, besides a few rumors spreading when a particularly nasty rainstorm was interrupted by a stream of beautiful sunlight, or when a massive hail storm managed to hit the entire east coast minus New York, but maybe that was how she wanted it. Regardless, they were happy. The world moved on. The course finally steadied.

Until today. Today, yet another superhero resigns from the League. A memo had been sent out to televisions across the nation, telling everyone of the important nature of the press conference happening tonight live on national television. “A state of governmental affair,” is how they worded it, as they did every time a superhero resigned. But that didn't stop families from across America huddling in in front of their televisions to see the announcement. Every room held someone pacing in front of their entertainment centers, wringing their hands nervously. Every couch holds a family as they bounce their knees in anticipation for whatever is coming next.

Well, every room and every couch minus one.

In a penthouse apartment in the coziest part of Manhattan, Farkle Minkus and Yogi Jabonero sat on the couch in their pajamas, flipping through channels until they land on one airing coverage of the press announcement. When they finally find one, they both sigh and lean back into the couch, reaching for the bowl of Corn Chips balancing on Farkle's crossed legs. The live coverage hasn't started yet; it was supposed to air at eight sharp, after all, and it was only 7:49. The three remaining heroes from the original Super League are nowhere to be seen, but the five members of the Young Super League line the stage. Levita and Lightning are deep in hushed conversation, standing back towards the door they likely entered from. Nightshade stands bear the edge towards the crowd, chatting happily to what looks like a group of little girls. Black Shroud remains hidden in the background, her arms crossed and legs folded in to her chest, curled almost in the fetal position on top of her chair. Mirage sits next to her, watching the crowd carefully with his big, sad eyes. Misfits, Farkle supposes, make the world go round.

There’s a knock on the front door, and Farkle very lazily grants entrance to whoever's on the other side without getting up from the couch. Unsurprisingly, Dave enters, glancing at the two best friends on the couch before turning to lock the door behind him. “Sure, just let whoever into your house,” he grumbles. He turns with his hands on his hips to find Yogi and Farkle not even bothering to look at him, their eyes still pointedly forward. “I could have been anyone, you bozos.”

“You were the only one of us not here yet,” Farkle says matter-of-factly. Dave opens his mouth again, but Farkle ignores him and continues. “Serial killers don't often knock before they enter, and traveling salesmen don't come to the top floor of twenty story apartment buildings.” Finally, he turns to look at Dave, who's dressed in nice jeans and a button up polo. He arches a brow and asks, “Where are your pajamas? It’s a day for pajamas. I said that in the memo.”

Almost as a nervous tic, Dave reaches out and runs his palms along the polo, smoothing it out to where it's tucked into his pants. “My mom said she wouldn't let me leave the house looking like a degenerate,” he says apologetically - or, well, as apologetic as Dave can get, which is not very much.

“That wouldn't be a problem for you, Dave, if you ever stayed the night,” Farkle quips, then turns around to put his eyes back on the television screen.

Dave makes an aborted groan and growl noise combined. “I told you, my mother believes sleepovers are for gangs, criminals, and homosexuals,” he says.

It's then that Yogi turns around, grinning wildly at him. “Three out of three,” he says. “We are a gang of criminals, _and_ two thirds of our group are homosexual.”

Reluctantly, Farkle suppresses the laugh that attempts to follow Yogi’s remark - not so much laughing with him, but at him. It’s a long story, but as much as he loves Yogi, he’s kind of an idiot. Not everyone is lucky enough to find their soulmate on the first day of the first grade. Somehow, Dave and Yogi drew the long straw - or the short straw, really, depending on how you look at it. When they first met and Yogi, hyperactive and with five crayons in each tiny grubby fist, asked what color elephant Dave preferred, Dave replied, without missing a beat, that elephants are gray and _only_ gray. Well, that was the end of that; the previously light gray words on their wrist lit up and went straight to black. But somehow, they've never dated. Partly because Yogi keeps insisting that he doesn't like boys, and partly because of the friendship that quickly blossomed after that, especially after Farkle entered the fold. All three of them have been inseparable ever since - and if Farkle chooses not to mention the looks that Yogi gives Dave when he thinks no one is looking, or the phone calls in the middle of the night from Dave whining for hours about how beautiful the other boy is, well, that's his business he supposes. They'll figure it out eventually; the bond tends not to be wrong.

Dave huffs a half-laugh and shoots back, “We're not cool enough to do anything criminal, but you certainly dress like we do.”

Yogi raises an eyebrow and then looks down to his tattered, well-loved and well-worn Flamet-shirt. “Are you saying I dress cool? Dave, you shouldn't have!” As Dave’s face heats up to a nice pink, Yogi runs his eyes over Dave's outfit. “I gotta say, man, a little sad that I can't return the compliment. You look like you're going to Farkle's Bar Mitzvah. Again.”

As the two soulmates continue to bicker, Farkle looks down at his own mark. Even though it's gray and unsaid, it still stands out against his otherwise pale and milky skin, written in a clean, crisp handwriting. _I was worried about you._ It’s an odd thing to say to someone when you first meet them, he supposes, but at least it's fairly normal. It's not obscure, like Dave's, or ordinary, like his mother's (her wrist reads _how are you?_ in his father's messy scrawl); in fact, he'd venture to say that it's somewhere in between. He picks up his hand and runs his fingers along it, saying a little prayer that someone is out there, thinking of him too.

He chooses that moment to tune back in - Dave and Yogi are still fighting (okay, flirting) like an old married couple, and Farkle rolls his eyes. Here he is, wishing for the day he meets his intended, and there they are, wasting every stupid moment. What he wouldn't give. As he listens to Yogi go on and on about why Dave is a momma’s boy and Dave about why Yogi should just grow up, movement begins on screen as the five heroes fall into line and the entrance music begins. “Guys,” he cuts in, “it's starting.”

They immediately drop whatever conversation they were having, and Dave rounds the couch to sit on the other side of Farkle as they watch the crowd begin to titter. “Has he said anything yet?” Dave asks, and Farkle shakes his head. He wonders if his mother is watching from work, the television in her office turned on, the reflection flickering in her glasses lenses. On the television, a commanding voice asks the audience to rise, and they do as they await the entrance of their heroes.

Seer enters first, The Warp and Medulla quick on his heels. Farkle’s heart jumps into his throat at the sight, and for some reason, he feels kind of nervous. He knew this was coming - he, Dave, and Yogi have known for months. But for some reason, it didn’t feel real until right now, when he sees them all stand there in their costumes. Seer approaches the microphone and clears his throat. “Welcome,” he says. His voice, as always, is wise, commanding, and reassuring. The audience relaxes at the sound, as does everyone on Farkle’s living room couch. Farkle’s father has always said that Seer is a natural leader, and it’s time like these that it’s easy to see. “Thank you all for coming. As always, we appreciate your dedication to the Super League, and we are incredibly grateful for your support.”

The audience applauds then, and Seer nods at them. “Yes, thank you.” He pauses then, looks between his two teammates. The Warp looks at his shoes, and Medulla nods back at him. Farkle’s throat feels tight. “It’s always hard,” Seer continues, turning back to the audience, “to say goodbye.” They all break out into murmurs of dissent and worry, but Seer holds up a hand. They fall back to silence and he continues: “We’ve seen it many times. Flame, Angel, Oak, Zephyr. Our beloved commander, George Feeny.” At that, all three men duck their heads. It’s hard for them to remember their once-beloved leader; his death in the war was unfortunate and unexpected. After a short lapse of silence, Seer continues.

“It’s always hard to say goodbye. Which is why it is so hard to say goodbye to yet another one of our own.” He turns to Medulla, smiling warmly. Medulla smiles back, if a little more reluctantly and sadly. “I have had some of the best memories of my life with Medulla. My old friend, you see the truth in everything, and for that, I have always respected you. I will be devastated to see you go, as will everyone.” The crowd murmurs in support at this. “Will you please say a few words?”

Medulla nods, and as Seer steps backward, he steps forward. He takes his place at the microphone, and as he looks sadly into the crowd, Farkle feels his heart break into a million pieces. Yogi puts a comforting hand on his arm, and Dave lets his head drop to Farkle’s shoulder, both in a rare and strange display of affection. Not that his friends didn’t love him, of course, but a gesture so intimate was reserved for intense occasions - such as this, he supposed. He takes Yogi’s hand in his own and gives it a tight squeeze.

“Citizens of New York City,” Medulla says, and his voice sounds choked. Farkle swallows. “For the past near thirty years, all I have known is the Super League. My team has had as many good times as they had bad - from the times The Mighty Oak locked me in the storage closet - “ The crowd laughs, and Medulla grins back. “- to when I met my beautiful wife on a mission. My life has been heavily intertwined with these two men and the others on our team for decades, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In a rare moment of solidarity, or affection, or something in between, The Warp reaches up and places a hand on Medulla’s shoulder. For a moment, Medulla looks surprised, but he recovers and carries on as the hand drops limply back to The Warp’s side. “Yes, well. I’ve enjoyed my life.” Then he frowns, sad again, and Farkle has never so much wanted to hug him as he does right now. “But much like all of you, I have a home. I have a family - a beautiful wife, a wonderful son, a house to go back to.” He gestures behind him, to the five heroes standing at the back of the stage. “These children are the next generation. It is they who are fit to save you, not me.”

The five Young Super League members look almost proud at this. Mirage smiles, his eyes crinkling; Lightning rocks back and forth on his feet contentedly; Nightshade gives a small wave. Medulla turns back to the podium and adjusts the high, blue neck of his costume, and then fidgets with glasses-like black mask. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you,” he says, and glances again over his shoulder at Seer, The Warp, and the five young heroes. “All of you. I may be smart, but I’m not… the best in a fight.”

At that, The Warp snorts. “No kidding,” he mutters, and Seer elbows him.

Medulla continues, like nothing happened. “I know almost everything there is to know, and if I know anything, it’s that you’re all the best teammates I could have ever had. You’ve all saved my hyde more times than I can count,” he says, and turns back to the crowd. “And you all gave my life a purpose. For all these years, I lived to save all of you. So thank you.” He pauses, then adds on, “And, you know, the government gave me a great salary and now I have, well, a helicopter, a penthouse, a - “

“Okay,” Seer cuts in, stepping back in front of the microphone. “That’s enough, Med.” Medulla shrugs, but laughs and steps off to the side. Seer smiles at him once again, and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. “We’ll miss you, friend,” he says, and Medulla bows his head. “Now, as we do with all retiring members of the Official Registry of Superbly Abled People, I need you to repeat after me…”

As Medulla holds his hand up and begins reciting the official decommissioning pledge, Yogi calls out a muting command that stops the television from emitting any noise. Then he and Dave both turn to Farkle almost simultaneously, and really, Farkle wonders how they can deny that they’re soulmates. “You okay, Mink?” Yogi asks, and Farkle shrugs, the old nickname laying itself around his shoulders like a comfortable coat.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, “I think so.” Dave and Yogi exchange a glance past his head, and he rolls his eyes. “No, really, I’m okay. This is what he wanted.”

Slowly, Dave nods. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, we know. It’s just - this is all you’ve known all your life. It’s gonna take some getting used to, and that’s okay.”

Yogi pats him on the back. “Yeah, dude, take your time,” he says. “It’s not every day that your dad resigns from being a superhero forever.”

Dave and Farkle both roll their eyes, and Yogi winces. Before anyone can say or do anything else, likely to cheer Farkle up, Yogi takes a handful of the Corn Chips on Farkle’s lap and puts them all into his mouth at once, his cheeks puffing up like a squirrel. Farkle laughs and Dave huffs, making a remark about how Farkle shouldn’t encourage him. When he swallows, Yogi shoots back, and they trail off into banter again. Farkle smiles, looking between them, and back to the television where his dad shakes hands with Seer, then The Warp.

It’s surprisingly emotional, and he can’t even tell why; his family never really valued emotions. As what was basically a human supercomputer, filled to the brim with answers without questions, Stuart held intelligence in far higher esteem than emotional vulnerability. So the end of his father’s career making his heart feel like it’s falling out of his chest is something kind of uncomfortably new for him. He watches as his father steps back up to the podium to take questions from reporters and concerned citizens, and as sad as he is, he also feels a twist of pride. Stuart may be arrogant, conceited, and a show-off, but to Farkle, he always will be a hero.

\--

Yogi and Dave stay through the rest of the day and for dinner, as they often do, which Jennifer brings back in plastic bags from China Inc. on the corner of their street. She greets all three boys with a smile and gives Farkle a kiss on his forehead, leaving behind a perfectly red kiss mark. Farkle just smiles, and wipes it away with a napkin (once Yogi is done making fun of him). As the four gather around the dinner table and get to work setting it and doling out Chinese food, the door opens and Stuart enters.

He’s changed out of his tight blue spandex and into a smart blue blazer and black turtleneck. It’s a weird change, having just seen him on television only a few hours ago in his last public appearance, but it’s what he regularly wears when not in costume anyway. His hair is no longer slicked back and instead laying across his forehead in a sweep of bangs, the gel probably having been washed out back at headquarters, and his suit and shield aren’t on his person. Farkle assumes that they’re probably either with Seer or in ORSAP’s Archival Museum, waiting to be put on display in the hall of retired costumes, next to that of Zephyr and Flame. He looks tired, but not angry or sad; more contented. It’s a face that Farkle is glad to see.

“Hi, honey,” Jennifer says warmly. Her tone is loving, but reserved, like she’s trying to test the waters. To be fair, Farkle wants to do the same. “How did everything go today?”

Stuart has always had only one household rule - no talking about work. He was pretty terrified that, should Farkle and Jennifer know anything, they might be in danger. In fact, he almost didn’t tell him he was thinking about quitting when they had to wrench it out of him a few months ago. This rule is why, despite being the child of a fairly famous hero, Farkle knows very little about any of the Super League. Sure, he knows a rough timeline up to the war, and he knows about the development of the Young Super League from what he’s read in papers, but that’s about the end. He wonders if Seer goes home to his family and tells them all about his day on the job, Nightshade nodding along avidly at his side. She would probably have some incredible stories.

If anyone knew about Stuart’s identity and, therefore, asked Farkle what it was like to have a superhero as a dad, he wouldn’t know what to say to them. He knows about Medulla, but he’s never really met Medulla - he knows Stuart better as _Dad._ He doesn’t know a man who runs around towns saving cities and killing villains and using a big titanium shield. He more or less knows, well, a father. He knows a man who held his hand when he fell off his scooter when he was six and cried for hours, who snuck him into a scary movie when he was only ten. He knows a man who hugged him when he was scared, and helped him study for math, and gave him a sex talk when he was thirteen with Seer and Zephyr action figures (and then again when he came out a year later, this time with Seer and The Warp action figures). He knows a guy who can’t dance, a guy who never drinks, a guy who can’t cook. He knows Dad. He wonders if Medulla, Stuart, and Dad are all different, and if sometimes they fight. Not, like, literally; this isn’t a Deadpool comic, he gets that. But he just wonders if Stuart sometimes doesn’t know what to do, because all of his different instincts are screaming at him at once. _Protect the civilians. Protect Jennifer. Protect Farkle._ How can they all be so different but still be in agreement enough of the time to make a functional human being?

Stuart smiles, looking tired and almost stretched thin by the day’s events. “Good,” he says, and it sounds honest at least. “I answered questions for a few hours, the best I could anyway, and then went to the archives to hand everything in to the Official Registry. They took me off of the database and move to the retiree database instead.”

From the table, Dave, Yogi, Farkle, and Jennifer all eye each other wearily. They don’t know how to proceed, and if they say the wrong thing, Stuart might just fall apart. “Well,” Jennifer says eventually, breaking the silence. “How do you feel?”

The smile on Stuart’s face turns into a full on grin. Farkle knows that grin very well; it’s Stuart’s “I’ve Done Something I’m Very Proud Of and You Should Be Too” look. “Good,” he says. “Great, actually.”

At once, the tension in everyone’s shoulders leaks out, and they all collectively breath a sigh of relief. Farkle almost wants to throw his arms around Dave and Yogi’s shoulders, elated at the victory of Stuart’s happiness. “Well, that’s great, Dad,” Farkle says, “I’m really proud of you.”

For a moment, Stuart looks taken aback. Then his face melts into a warm smile, nothing but love on his face. “Thanks, son,” he says. Farkle’s heart swells in his chest. His dad then turns to the Chinese food left out for him and points. “Dinner?” Stuart asks, and they all nod before he sets about fixing himself a plate.

Dinner goes relatively easily after that; Yogi tells stories about his fishing with his grandfather last year (to which his father, who literally knows everything, starts in on a lengthy discussion about the pros and cons of different baits and what they should be used for), and Dave talks about his mother’s seamstress shop and his job there (he describes a man who asked for his pant legs to be sewed together in attempt to become some type of mermaid superhero). Jennifer tells a story about her day at the E.R., recounting how she saved a patient from certain death this morning when he attempted to fly and prove his superb ability. Even his father, after three glasses of red wine, joins in on the story-telling, selecting a story about some final set-ups for a training exercise for tomorrow, and some hilarious mishaps. Yogi’s eyes open comically wide at this story, his love for superheroes apparent now in his intense interest in the story Stuart is telling. Stuart even makes a crack about Yogi’s t-shirt, offended that he isn’t Yogi’s favorite superhero. Dave assures Stuart not to worry, he just has a massive crush on Flame, to which Yogi blushes scarlett and Jennifer laughs breathily. Farkle stays quiet, instead choosing to revel in the company of these people, the four people he holds dearest to him. Yogi’s wide eyes, Dave’s quick quips, his mother’s pretty laugh, his father’s comfortable grin. He feels at home here.

Once the plates are practically licked clean, Farkle and Stuart do the dishes while Jennifer and Dave discuss his mother’s business. Yogi, who’s been uncharacteristically silent since the Flame commentary, sits petulantly in his seat at the table, fidgeting with his shirt between his fingers. Farkle finishes off the dishes and Dave yawns, stretching his arms far above his head and complaining that he’s tired. Finally, Farkle hears the old Yogi return when he mutters, “Old man.” It appears Dave was worried, too, about his pouting, because he doesn’t even shoot back and just smiles instead.

After they pack up Yogi’s belongings from the night before, the two decide to go home. They thank Stuart and Jennifer for having them, Dave explaining that he really would like to stay longer but his mom would have a fit, and Yogi saying that he would stay another night but his father, an ever diligent police officer, wouldn’t take too kindly to that. Farkle walks them out of the door and to the elevator. “You alright, Yog?” he asks, when the doors slide closed behind them.

It’s as if he pulled Yogi back from thought, then, as he can see the moment when his back snaps into a straight line. He looks at Farkle, blinking, then smiles. In typically comic Yogi fashion, he salutes with the arm not holding his duffle bag instead of really answering. “I’m sorry, Mr. Farkle,” he says in mock-seriousness. “I seem to have a lot on my mind.”

Farkle blinks at him in confusion, and Dave snorts. “First time for everything,” he mutters.

Yogi cuts him a playful glare, but turns back to Farkle. “Forget about me,” he says, “but you better get your beauty rest, Mink, because we’re going out tomorrow.”

For a moment, there’s silence as the elevator whirs and Dave and Farkle share a glance. Since when are they going out tomorrow? It’s a Sunday, so it’s feasible, but he and Dave didn’t know it was happening. “Okay,” Dave says, slowly, arching an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

Yogi points furiously upwards. “Didn’t you hear him?!” he practically yells, and Farkle winces, because even though they’re on an elevator, Farkle still lives in a building full of rich, uppity white ladies who go to bed at 8 pm, and it is well past 11:30. “There’s training going on tomorrow! We have to go see if Flame is there!”

Dave rolls his eyes, looking, unless Farkle is imagining it, slightly jealous. It’s highly amusing. He thinks he hears Dave mutter something under his breath that if, he liked Flame so much, he can just go be his soulmate, but he ignores him in favor of addressing Yogi. “Yogi, my dad _just_ retired from the Super League,” he says. “I don’t think either he or they would be too happy to catch me snooping on their field practice.”

Suddenly, a wide and charismatic grin stretches Yogi’s features, as he wiggles his eyebrows up and down, much to Farkle’s dismay. It’s his “I Just Had A Great Idea” face. No great ideas ever, ever come from this face. “Then we won’t get caught,” he says flippantly, just as they arrive at the bottom floor.

Dumbfounded, he watches as Dave is dragged out of the elevator by Yogi, who waves over his shoulder and yells, “Seven A.M., Minkus!” Shortly thereafter, when Yogi and Dave disappear around the corner of the building headed in the direction of the subway, the elevator doors close and he slowly begins the crawl back upstairs. Well, at least if he gets caught by the Super League, he can pull the legacy card. His dad’s retirement can’t be too fresh for that… right?


	2. fight the rising odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! not much to say except honestly this is already one of my fave works and it's not even done ajskdlf. thanks so much in advance for reads/reviews!!!!

Sure enough, at the crack of dawn at seven in the morning, there’s a knock on his door. Farkle groans and attempts to pull the pillow over his head. “No,” he grunts. He’s only answered by another and more persistent knock. He decides not to answer this time, and again, is met by another knock. He heaves out a sigh and stands, swinging open the door. Really, at this point, he shouldn’t be surprised, but this is just ridiculous.

The two look him up and down, and Yogi snorts. “Nice bed head,” he says, and Farkle rolls his eyes.

“You’re just lucky he doesn’t have the bowl cut anymore,” Dave says, sneering at the memory of seventh and eighth grade Farkle. He takes a long sip of the coffee in his hand before he continues, looking at Farkle pointedly over the tops of his sunglasses. “The flattened bed head look is practically dreamy, compared to that.”

Farkle blinks at them. “What are you two _doing_?” he hisses. “My dad’s here, and if he finds out you two broke in with the spare key -”

“Dude, your dad let us in.”

He looks at them. Looks behind them in the hall towards his parents’ room. Looks at them again. “He - what?”

Yogi and Dave exchange a glance, the kind that only very close friends or lovers share, and at this point, Farkle doesn’t know which he would prefer them to be. “He’s in the kitchen,” Dave says slowly, “making breakfast.”

_What?_ He has to be asleep. He’s still dreaming; he’s entered some sort of parallel reality where his dad was never a superhero and instead was something normal, like a chef or a teacher. His dad has never cooked him breakfast in his life. Farkle pushes past his two best friends and runs out towards the kitchen, his bare feet slapping the floor sharply. He skids to a stop where wood flooring meets tiles, where his dad does, in fact, have a bowl in one arm and a whisk in his opposite hand, making what Farkle can only assume is omelettes. Maybe Farkle died in his sleep. Who is this alien and what have they done with his father?

When Stuart notices him, he smiles and does a little wave with the whisk. “Farkle,” he says.

Farkle blinks. “Father,” he replies, his tone unsure. “You’re…”

“Making eggs,” Yogi supplies, suddenly appearing behind him. Dave, of course, is right beside him, because when isn’t he? “And Farkle, you’re being weird.”

Stuart looks up, smiling at the boys like making eggs in the Minkus family kitchen is exactly where he belongs. “Your mom had to work the morning shift at the hospital,” he supplies. “And I was usually up at this time and at the S.L.H.Q. anyway.” He turns away and picks up a plate, then crosses a few steps and holds it out to them. “Toast?”

Dave reaches out and takes one, happily munching on it along with his coffee. Farkle feels like his world was turned upside down. Just yesterday, this man was wielding a titanium shield and wearing a black mask around his eyes. Today, he’s turned it in for a white apron and a plate full of toast. He’s unsure what’s happening.

“Thanks, Mister Minkus, but we’re getting everything to go.” Yogi punctuates this statement by throwing his arms around Farkle’s and Dave’s shoulders. “Boy’s day out, you know.”

Just as Farkle is about to sputter that he’s not going _anywhere,_ Stuart hums thoughtfully, setting the plate of toast down on the counter next to him. “Where are you off to?” he asks.

_Oh, no. Oh no, oh no._ He looks nervously to Dave, who’s munching on toast, and then to Yogi, who’s regarding Stuart thoughtfully. Farkle is a terrible liar; he can think of a million of them a minute, but when it comes time to execute them, he’s not great with the whole words thing. And if Yogi, the mouthiest person he knows, hasn’t said anything yet, they’re screwed. Luckily, though, Dave finishes his toast and, through a mouthful of it, says something that sounds like a combination of “hot” and “kin.”

What that could possibly mean, he has no idea, and he stares at Dave in confusion. That’s when Yogi laughs fondly, and then Farkle stares at _him_ in confusion. Is today upside down day? Dave has food shoved in his mouth, Yogi’s being soft, his dad is cooking breakfast. Next, Farkle’s going to rip off his own Scooby Doo mask to reveal E.T., or something. Nothing’s making any sense today. “What he said,” Yogi says jokingly. “We’re going hiking.”

With one thick gulp, Dave swallows, and glares. “That’s what I said,” he assures, then turns back to Stuart. “What are you doing today, sir?”

Stuart chuckles, likely at the use of the word “sir” (as Dave’s the only one that’s ever called him that, what with him being the closest thing Dave’s ever had to father and all). “Not much,” he admits. “I’ll tend to the plants out on the terrace, read a nice book, record that show your mother likes so much…” He snaps his fingers, searching for something that isn’t there, and Farkle feels his mouth straighten into a thin line.

“ _Dancing With the Stars?”_ he suggests, and Stuart points at him.

“Yes!” he says, “Yes, that’s it. One of the first sanctioned superheroes in the state of New York, Captain Pinpoint, is going to be on it, so I’ll be watching that with her later this evening.” He smiles contentedly, then goes back to whisking his eggs. “Anywho, boys, if you need anything, call me, because I’ll -”

Just then, a loud noise blares throughout the house. Their white-walled kitchen is bathed in a red light as a siren, posted on the living room wall by the door, shudders to life and blinks wildly, alerting the mighty Medulla of a potential crime in the area. The open floor plan allows for the color to be seen from near anywhere in the apartment, minus the two bedrooms, and so the kitchen is far from left behind. For a moment, they all just stare at it as it flashes from nearly forty feet away from them. Almost as one, the three boys turn their head to look at Stuart, who’s staring at the alarm almost curiously. Then, in one fluid motion, he picks up a kitchen knife and throws it.

His incredibly accurate aim allows him to hit the siren, cutting the large hunk of plastic in half. It falls into two pieces and pops off the wall altogether, the noise and the flash of color cutting off abruptly. Once again, the three teenagers whip their head around to look at Stuart, who’s looking at the siren with almost a detached disinterest. After a moment, he shrugs and picks up his omelette bowl again, going back to stirring with an astonishing ease.

“Whoa,” Yogi whispers, breaking the silence. When Farkle turns to look at him, he finds a look of awe and astonishment on his doe-like features. “Okay, maybe Flame _isn’t_ my favorite superhero.”

Great. Crime is raging in the area, his dad is throwing kitchen knives, and Yogi has successfully transferred his crush from Flame to the man standing in the kitchen in a white apron who could, apparently, absolutely murder any one of them. Awesome.

Farkle promptly turns on his heel and heads towards his bedroom, deciding that he is going out with Yogi and Dave. At least if he’s gone, he won’t have to deal with the utter weirdness that is his father today.

\--

As soon as they leave the house, Yogi begins to lead them straight down the streets of Manhattan, making a series of complicated twists and turns that Farkle, personally, doesn't understand. He and Dave exchange a glance around their third left and second right, but say nothing, choosing instead to follow blindly as Yogi runs around the streets of New York like some kind of maniac. Farkle wonders if he really knows where training is being held, and if so, how he got that information. Dave just drinks his coffee and zones out passively behind his sunglasses as if he doesn't know the answer and doesn't really want to.

Eventually, though, they wander into a more remote part of the area. It's not sketchy, per say; just out of the way. No one can really see where they are from here. The wide expanse of trees has no surrounding buildings or even streets, and the only two people there are a young girl, sitting on a picnic blanket and rhythmically throwing a ball up and down, and a woman who runs past them with her dog. Neither of them take any notice, so Yogi shrugs and walks forward toward the trees.

He wonders farther and farther in, Dave and Farkle looking around at the trees suspiciously. In Farkle's humble opinion, this is the kind of place you would take someone to murder them. But Yogi is smarter than that… right?

Finally, they come upon a semi-clearing, or at least a ring of trees. Yogi cries out a small “aha,” then marches up to one of the trees and… begins to climb? Farkle whips his head to share a look with Dave, but his eyes are trained on Yogi in a look of sheer and utter panic. “Yogi Jabonero,” he says urgently, “ _what_ do you think you're doing?!”

Yogi shrugs as he continues to shimmy, looking for another branch to step on. “Climbing the tree,” he replies, finally managing to pull himself up once more. “Better for vantage.” He looks up again and grins before looking down at Farkle and Dave. “Coming?” he asks, before reaching up and disappearing into the tree’s many branches.

Farkle is sincerely considering just going home, forgetting Yogi and his Flame obsession and spending time with his weird, alien dad. But Dave grumbles a few unappreciative and choice words, then grabs Farkle by the wrist and drags him forward. He barely even has time to sputter indignantly before they’ve reached the tree, Dave shrugging out of his sweater and putting his sunglasses on top of his head. “If we die, I’m going to kill you, Yogi,” he says simply as he ties his sweater around his waist. Then he, too, grabs onto a branch and begins to make his way upwards.

There are about a million options Farkle can resort to right now. He can ask if the two boys in the tree have gone totally and completely insane, or turn around and go home, or, well, climb the tree. He doesn’t even realize he’s decided on the last option until he’s halfway through taking off his jacket and walking towards the tree. He hates his friends. Really, he does, and he still hates them as he shimmies up the long, slim bark and up into the shaky thin branches above.

By the time he reaches the branch they’re seated on, they’re both staring intensely into the distance. He follows their gaze to a rather large arena; the ground is covered in light brown dirt, and several tires and obstacle course items are strewn about. Several faces he recognize run about the course; Black Shroud does backflips through hoops, Lightning lands punches on a punching bag, Levita glares at a dummy, her hands outstretched in front of her. Meanwhile, just off to the side, Nightshade and Seer talk heatedly, The Warp pacing just a few feet away. And in the bleachers of the arena, Mirage sits quietly, his eyes closed and legs crossed underneath him. “Whoa,” Farkle whispers. Dave nods his head, perching quietly on the tree branch beside him. “How come we didn’t see this before?”

“Yeah,” Dave murmurs, “all we saw on the way over were a bunch of trees and abandoned lots.”

Farkle watches the heroes. As Black Shroud finishes her flips and lands stealthily on her feet, Nightshade throws up her arms angrily. One of the things she’s best known for is her sweet temperament and kindness. So much for that, he supposes. Even her fellow team members turn to look at her as she goes, all with the exception of Mirage, the rest having given up their training in favor of watching the teen girl’s dramatic storming off. After a moment of silence, Black Shroud turns on her heel and heads after her. Lightning frowns and pulls off his boxing gloves, and Levita crosses her arms over her chest. Meanwhile, Seer turns to talk to The Warp, mouth moving quickly and eyebrows seemingly drawn together angrily.

Eventually, Yogi hums thoughtfully, finally answering back to Dave and Farkle’s questions. “Cloaking device or something, I assume,” he says, and for a moment, Farkle is sure that he and Dave have switched brains in some kind of weird soulmate-related accident. Yogi doesn’t usually use words like “assume” or “cloaking” or “device” or, really, speak in coherent sentences at all. Then he grins wildly at them. “This is cool as hell. Cooler than that time Darby Walker did a split in the middle of the ORSAP museum field trip and split her pants.”

There’s the good old Yogi.

As Dave whisper-yells at him for his insensitivity, Farkle looks back over his shoulder at the little girl on the picnic blanket. Odd, he thinks, that her parents aren’t with her. He wonders where they went. The woman with her dog passes by again, not even glancing at the little girl as she goes, and he thinks maybe she’s her mother. They’re slightly different in skin tones and hair colors, but it’s not impossible; she could be adopted, or her father could look different than she does, or any other large varieties of possibilities. She throws the ball again and again, and he kind of admires her. He couldn’t sit still when he was a kid, let alone throw a ball up and down in order to keep himself entertained. The woman with the dog runs past again. Maybe the girl’s parents went across the street, or into the woods, or took their dog for a quick walk. Meanwhile, Dave’s mother will barely let him out of her sight, and he’s sixteen. The girl looks about six, maybe eight at the most, with her red hair in little pigtails and a yellow overall dress on over her green t-shirt. Just as he’s about to go climb out of the tree and potentially check on her, the woman with the dog runs past again. Farkle frowns. How is that even possible? She went the opposite direction, didn't turn back around, and then still seemed to come back the same way as she did the first time. The track, he's pretty sure, runs along a loop behind the trees and into the woods. There’s no way she could be making it back that quickly.

It’s then that it hits him. “Guys,” he whispers, “they’re not real.”

As Yogi and Dave turn around to ask what he means, Farkle glances back to the arena. Mirage is peering up at them, his typically wide eyes narrowed in confusion. He turns to look at the woman and child, again, and in one instant they’re there, and in the next, they disappear. All three boys gasp, and Dave is so startled, he shifts backwards on his feet. Then he’s gone.

In one instant, he’s there. And in the next, he’s at the base of the tree, screaming in agony.

“Jesus Christ!” Yogi yells, then he quickly begins to shimmy down the tree branches. Farkle is still in shock, so it takes him a moment longer, but he too climbs down after his two friends.

Once he reaches the bottom, he finds Dave, still groaning loudly, his arm bent in an unlikely and nearly impossible position. In the meantime, Yogi is walking back and forth, babbling nervously. “... phone at home,” he’s saying, as Farkle swallows and looks over Dave for any other injuries. “I knew it was stupid, I knew it! We both should have brought our stupid phones. Farkle, buddy, you’re the only one who has yours on you - I hope you have yours on you, because otherwise, we’re screwed. Like totally screwed! Oh, God, this is all my stupid fault. I killed my best friend, that’s gonna be the title of my autobiography!” He pauses, then abruptly yells, “Oh my God, I killed my own soulmate!” He looks down at his wrist, like he expects the words to fade away right then and there.

“Yogi,” Farkle says. “Calm down.”

Yogi turns to look at him, but pales and then gags when he sees Dave’s bent arm. “Can’t -” He gags again, turning around and leaning on his knees. “Can’t look.” Farkle imagines it hurts him more than he cares to admit to see Dave in pain.

Unable to get anywhere when talking to Yogi, he turns his attention to Dave. “Dave,” he says quietly, “can you walk?” Dave whimpers and shakes his head softly. Farkle swears, but nods all the same. There’s not much they can really do about it. “Okay, that’s fine. We’ll help you. It’s going to be okay.” He wants to ask Yogi if he can help to carry him, but Yogi can barely even turn around at the moment. So Farkle reaches out and, tentatively, puts his hands on Dave’s misshapen arm.

In that exact moment, there’s a surge of energy more power than he’s ever experienced, and Farkle sucks in a breath through his nose. His hands feel warm, but not scorching, and he closes his eyes as a feeling of transference overwhelms him. Unintentionally, his grip on Dave’s arms tightens, and he hears a faint squeak in the background. But all he can really hear is the pounding of his heart wringing in his ears, his blood pumping quickly through his veins, and the rush of power that comes with… whatever it is that’s happening.

As abruptly as it started, the feeling ends, and Farkle falls backwards onto the grass. When he opens his eyes, Yogi and Dave both stare at him. Yogi is crouched by Dave’s side, a hand on his shoulder, and Dave is cradling his seemingly healed arm to his chest and mindlessly flexing his fingers. For a moment, no one says anything. Then Yogi grins earnestly. “Mink,” he says. “You’re a superhero.”

Farkle’s stomach flips - whether in nerves or excitement, he’s not sure.

\--

“Stop. You’re going to wear a track in the floor.”

Farkle does stop pacing around the room, but he turns to Dave and throws his arms up. “What, like you're just fine with this?” he asks. “I healed you, Dave! Your arm was broken and I fixed it!” Neither of his best friends answer. Dave keeps typing into the computer, and Yogi is staring at the screen over his shoulder. Farkle bends down to their eye level where they're seated on his bed, and asks flatly, “ _Why aren't you freaking out?”_

Yogi shrugs. “Dude, you're dad's a hero,” he says. “We grew up with this stuff. In fact, I'm kind of glad it happened, because this just proved that you're a real, live human boy and not some kind of robot or evil clone baby.” Dave nods distractedly, eyes still trained on the laptop in front of him, scanning the page frantically for something.

On one hand, they're right - Farkle having some semblance of superpowers makes a lot of sense. His dad is, after all, Medulla, one of the world's most renowned superheroes of the modern age. But on the other hand, it was kind of two different things: finding out your friend's dad is a superhero versus finding out you are a superhero. Plus, although his powers had been possible, he was pretty certain that this was never going to happen. When Farkle turned twelve and still had no sign of any kind of powers, he assumed he was a normie, like his mom. That's not by any means a bad thing - his mom is a wonderful woman with a full life as the head doctor at Mother Molly Memorial Hospital. He wasn't disappointed at all in his lack of superb abilities. In fact, before today, although he had never told her, he had kind of planned on following her footsteps - despite all the trouble she warned that med school brought, he was almost excited to go out into the world and help people with knowledge. But now, he supposes, he is officially doomed to lead a life of crime fighting vigilantism. Well, he doesn't have to - he could remain unregistered and never use his powers again. That is a totally valid option should he choose to take it, but if he does, he can really never use his powers again. Should he get caught using a superbly abled power while unregistered, he could get into serious trouble with the law. And now that he has these powers, he isn't sure he can be so selfish as to keep them to himself.

Dave clears his throat. “Okay,” he says, with an air of finality, even though he never even told Farkle what he was looking for. “According to the Superbly Abled Addendum Clause, Healing powers are listed as acceptable reason for registration into the Official Registry of Superbly Abled People. However, according to SAWikia, healing powers in general, including regeneration and health manipulation, are considered a minor power and are typically found on their own in normies who develop superpowers, not typically in genetically enhanced humans with the heroic gene. Those who do have the heroic gene and find themselves with the healing power typically also have other dormant powers in conjunction with healing and are considered Multis.”

Once he's done, Dave looks up at Farkle with questioning eyes. Farkle simply takes a seat next to his friends on the edge of his own bed, sighing. “So what does that mean?” Yogi wonders. Dave continues to look at Farkle, and Farkle doesn't look up at all.

“It means I probably have multiple powers,” he says bluntly. “Not all concentrated in one area.”

Yogi still looks confused, so Dave finally looks back over to him to explain. “A hero with one central power is called a “monolevel” hero, or a “Monie” for short. They have a centralized power, like Medulla's superhuman intelligence or Zephyr’s weather manipulation, et cetera.”

Yogi nods along, then interjects, “Okay, so I'm guessing Farkle is… not that?”

Dave looks back at Farkle again, looking unusually concerned. “It's unlikely, yes,” he confesses. “Healing is typically a power that is combined with others, because it's a minute power. It's possible it's his only power, but because of his father's heroic status, it's highly likely other powers will surface as well.” He turns back to Yogi. “That would make him a “multilevel” hero, also known as a “Multi.” These heroes are typically not taken as seriously due to the minor nature of their powers.”

That leads them all to sit in silence for a moment as they digest the information. Not only is Farkle a superhero, he's a _lame_ superhero. The bullies at school would be delighted to hear this; he can only imagine what would happen were Billy to find out. He sighs and shakes his head, and Dave raises his hand, putting it gently on the nape of his friend's neck. Meanwhile, Yogi slides the laptop over to his own lap. “Well, it's not that bad,” he says, clicking on a ‘minor powers’ SAWikia article. “You could have, uh….” He squints at the items on the page. “Bread manipulation? Or disease mimicry.”

At that, Farkle groans and throws his head in his hands. “Who says I _don't_ have those powers?” he asks miserably. “Yogi, I'm a freak! Even by freak standards!”

The springs in his bed shift, and suddenly, Yogi is leaning down in front of him. “Hey,” he says, scowling. “Farkle Minkus just happens to be my best friend. And I would appreciate it if you stopped talking crap about him, because he's a really cool guy!” Beside him, Dave nods, letting his hand drop into his lap. “Personally, although I can't speak for old Davey here -” Dave interjects with a light “you can,” to which Yogi nods before he goes on. “- I wouldn't care if you had lame powers. We don't care if you can manipulate cheese or have the ability to slide for long periods of time. Who cares if your powers suck?” Dave mutters something along the lines of ‘make your point, dummy,’ but Yogi waves him off. “The fact of the matter is, I liked you before you had superpowers, dude! And it's going to remain that way, whether you like it or not. So say you do have…” He looks back over at the list. “Rainbow generation. That's fine! It'll just make you really popular at pride parades!”

Farkle laughs at that, despite himself. Dave, who was nodding along until now, piped in while pulling the laptop back onto his lap, “Yeah. Plus, healing is actually really cool. And there's some other really interesting stuff on here, Farkle. Not only healing, but stuff like power mimicry, night vision, omnilingualism…”

Although still semi-disappointed and angry, Farkle does manage to feel better about his superhero status. “Thanks, guys,” he says, and they both smile at him. “So… what's next?”

Dave immediately starts typing, and eventually mutters something about sending. Yogi grins and there's a _ding_ on his phone, indicating a received message. “Now,” he says, “we find out what other powers you have.” Farkle doesn't like the sound of that at all.

\--

The days pass in a blur of school, power testing, and sleep. He barely even gets time to eat, breathe, do homework, or other important things. Somehow, though, he manages, with the help of Yogi and Dave. When they’re not assessing which super powers he does and doesn’t have (so far they’ve gotten through letters A through D, and none of the minor powers have connected; the closest they got was “annoyance inducement,” but Farkle is pretty sure that Dave was just tired of talking to him that day), they’re all doing homework together or going to school. Yogi practically lives at his house anyway, not because he doesn’t like his parents but because he likes Farkle’s. Dave is a little harder to get out of the house, but he’s been telling his mother that they’re working on a school project.

It’s exhausting, but Farkle feels it’s necessary if he wants to move forward. He hasn’t used his healing powers since the first day around a week ago, and hasn’t been tempted to, thank god. No one’s gotten hurt recently, so he hasn’t felt the need to step in and help, and even if he did, he couldn’t. Using your powers while unregistered is illegal, a ban put into effect nearly ten years ago in attempt to stop the growing population of supervillains in the country. Farkle was only six or seven when it happened, and he remembers seeing on the news that nearly a hundred superheroes had registered that afternoon. Very few choose to not register and never use their powers; it was extremely difficult to shut that side of oneself off, and even if one successfully evaded using their powers, they were still there, a constant buzz in the back of one’s mind. It’s as impossible to remove superpowers as it is to remove the mark, though many have tried. So many just choose to register, even if they don’t want to be on call for duty.

So before he registers (because, let’s face it, what choice does he have?), he wants to assess all of his powers before he tries to use them at all. Today is a Monday, and Yogi is pulling him out of the school and towards the desolate park they use to train before he can say anything at all. Dave grumbles but trails behind them, tapping his thumbs furiously, likely talking to his mom. Farkle wonders when he isn’t talking to his mom. Then, he feels a slight sting of guilt when he realizes, in the full week since his dad's retirement, he hasn't spent any time with him outside of family dinner. He hasn't helped him with dinner, or asked him how he likes _Dancing With the Stars,_ or begged him to fact check his essay on Belgium in the year of 1831. (Although Farkle very rarely needs fact checking, he supposes it is occasionally helpful to have the world's fastest human computer in your living room.) He tells himself it's because of the whole powers thing, but if he's being honest, it's weird having his dad home. They love each other, sure, but it's been so long with just he and his mom (or, alternatively, just him as his mom works an all-day hospital shift) that they don't know how to function around each other anymore. Their old routine would be that Stuart would either come home in time for dinner, talk about Farkle's day and go to bed, or he would walk straight to his bedroom like an overworked zombie. Not that he misses his dad being constantly exhausted, but it's certainly a change of pace.

Before he knows it, they've reached the park, Yogi’s hand still securely on his wrist. Dave dumps his backpack on the ground and rummages inside, pulling out the list in one swoop. “Okay,” he says, eying the black and white letters with confusion. “I know we’ve made it to duplication, so we should probably move on to echolocation…”

Yogi, who’s toeing the dirt with his shoe, says, “I don’t know, maybe we should go back and look at… some of the other options…”

At once, Dave and Farkle both groan loudly. “Yogi, we’re not going back to cheese manipulation,” Farkle says bluntly.

“Why not?” Yogi whines loudly. “I was really excited about that one!”

Dave huffs and crosses his arms. “He tried tapping into the energy of cheese. It didn’t work. Besides, I’m lactose intolerant - do you _want_ me to die?”

Yogi rolls his eyes, crossing his own arms in a poor mimic of Dave. If it weren’t for the near foot height difference, Yogi may just be more intimidating. “You wouldn’t die,” he replies shortly. “Maybe get intensely gassy. And that’s only if you eat it. No one’s _making_ you eat Farkle’s magic cheese.”

As the two soulmates break into a fit of bickering, Farkle snatches the list from Dave’s hands in order that they might move on. “Alright,” he says, “echolocation.” He pauses for a moment as the banter subsides and both Dave and Yogi turn their attention to him. “How are we even supposed to test that?”

All three boys look at each other, then Yogi hums. “Can’t we just, I don’t know,” he throws his arms up. “Not?”

“Yogi,” Dave says, his tone clipped, “this was your idea. We can’t just give up midway because you get lazy.”

“Well, look at him.” They both turn to look at Farkle in unison, like eerily programmed robots. He blinks back at them. “Does he look like a bat hero? No pointy ears, no pinched nose. Plus, it’s just too much effort to test…”

Dave looks like he’s about to fight Yogi to the death, so Farkle hurries to move on. “Look, maybe we can cover that one later,” he says. Dave is still glaring, but he shrugs, so Farkle counts it as a win and says, “Okay, how about, uh, echinoderm physiology?”

“I don’t even know what that _is,_ ” Yogi says in a high-pitched whine before sitting down on the grass.

Dave rolls his eyes once again, and seriously, Farkle loves his friends, but if forced to choose between one of them due to a soulmate battle to the death, he’ll choose neither. He’ll walk off into the sunset by himself and figure this out alone, because he doesn’t have time for it. “It’s mimicry of echinoderms,” he explains patiently. “Like starfish and sea cucumbers.”

Yogi looks at him for a moment, then flicks an eyebrow. “Do you feel like a cucumber?”

They all look at each other, put off by the question and Yogi’s sour attitude. “Uh,” he says, “no?”

“Then let’s move on.”

They go through several more of the options, each more irritating than the last. Every time Farkle (or on rare occasion Dave, when he isn’t glaring holes into the side of Yogi's head) reads a power off the list, Yogi shoots it down with an irritated comment or sigh, or a half hearted attempt to assess Farkle's ability. Although he and Yogi have been friends for over a decade, he's never wanted to punch Yogi more than right now. And Dave? Well, Dave is usually mad at Yogi, probably because he gave up on the whole soulmate thing before they even tried. But this anger usually outlets itself in annoyance or bickering or teasing. But right now, Dave looks downright murderous. He typically doesn't like to get involved in their shenanigans, and actually makes it a self-imposed rule to not pick sides in their arguments. However, when Yogi makes a particularly annoyed comment and Dave snarls - actually _snarls_ -, Farkle decides it's time to get involved just this once. “Okay, Yog,” he says, crossing his arms and turning to his companion. “What is up with you today?”

Although he probably thinks he's being slick, Yogi cuts his eyes to Dave and looks away just as quickly, looking back to Farkle with an easy shrug. “I don't know,” he says, “can't a man just be bored?”

Dave looks literally too angry to speak, so Farkle reluctantly continues the conversation. “Not really? Not when my whole life is on the line?” He pauses and takes a hesitant step forward. “C'mon, Yog, tell us what's really going on. We're your best friends.”

There's a long silence as Yogi considers this, and eventually, Dave huffs impatiently. “He's useless, Farkle,” he mutters. “He's about as emotionally mature as a bag full of worms and the mental capacity of a brick. We should just continue on our own -”

“Oh yeah?” Yogi challenges, and oh boy, now he's yelling. “Well then why's your wrist so insistent on me being your soulmate, huh?!”

At that, Dave glares. Farkle winces. They never, ever talk about the soulmate thing, and it's probably not a good idea to start now. “I wish I knew,” Dave is saying, and even worse than Yogi's yelling - Dave is whispering. His words are like little tiny shards of glass aiming only to cut. “You think if I had any control, I would pick you?”

By some miracle, or perhaps whatever the opposite of a miracle is, Yogi looks hurt by that. Which Farkle thinks is a little fair, perhaps, because Dave just challenged the entirety of both their friendship and their bond. And also a little unfair, because Yogi was the one who rejected Dave in the first place. But the hurt doesn't last long, and is soon replaced by cold fury as Yogi shouts back, “Fine! I wish we weren't soulmates!”

“I wish we weren't even here right now!”

“I wish we had never even met!”

A reigning silence drops upon them all like a blanket. Yogi looks almost shocked at his own words, and Dave looks downright appalled. Farkle screws his eyes shut and breaks the silence, trying not to shout too loudly and disturb any civilians. “Quiet! Both of you! Do you have any idea how lucky you two are to have each other, huh? I've haven't even found my soulmate!”

He rubs his hands over his face and keeps them there, not wanting to look at either of his friends for fear of backing out of saying what he needs to say. “Look, you're both my best friends. Follow the bond, don't follow the bond; help me find my powers, don't help me find my powers. I don't care, do what's best for you guys. But for the love of… don't take it out on our friendship. You two are the only thing grounding in my life right now, and I know it's not all about me, but we all belong together, like a stupid jigsaw puzzle. I love you guys so much, please don't let a stupid fight end it all.”

There's a resounding silence, and he's fairly sure he's made his point. But Yogi stammers, “Uh, Mink?” and it sounds far away.

Farkle opens his eyes to find himself nearly ten feet off the ground, and yelps, curling his knees up to his chest. “Uh,” he says, “I can fly?”

“Levitate,” Dave says helpfully. He doesn’t sound like he’s about to rip Yogi’s throat out anymore, but his voice is rough with unshed tears as he looks up at Farkle, squinting. “Basically the twin sister of flying, except for it to be considered ‘flying,’ which is a major power, you need wings. Levitating, though basically the same thing minus the wings, is considered a minor power. It’s a controversial subject amongst heroes and the government, but since it grows in with other powers like healing, it’s technically a minor power.”

Farkle just blinks at him. “Okay. So I can levitate?”

“Appears so,” Yogi says, grinning. Soon, Dave is grinning back, and so is Farkle. Everything, for now, is back to normal.

\--

The sun is setting over the horizon, and the sky is water colored with pinks and oranges and purples. It's a perfect picture, nearly; almost as perfect as the swirl of ice cream in Farkle's cone or in Dave's tiny cup. Yogi went home about an hour ago, claiming it was family game night with him and his five siblings, which left Farkle and Dave. Which was fine - more than fine, in fact. He and Dave didn't get to spend much time alone together, due to one overbearing mother and one hyperactive Yogi. So if he can buy one of his best friends a cup of ice cream and watch the sunset with him before having to see him home at his strictly imposed weeknight curfew, well, that was okay by him.

They've been sitting in silence for nearly fifteen minutes now, Farkle having slowly licked his ice cream down to the beginning of the cone. As he licks off another chunk of mint chocolate chip, Dave suddenly speaks. “It seems to me like your trigger might be emotional response.”

Farkle raises his eyebrows, continuing to lick away at the minty cold treat. “Huh?” he mumbles inelegantly, but Dave doesn't seem to mind, instead watching the horizon.

“I think the trigger for your powers is emotional response,” he says again. He eats a spoonful of his vanilla before continuing, “You were distressed the other day when I was injured, and today you were angry when Yogi and I were…” He trails off, frowning.

There's a pause again, and Farkle nods. “Okay,” he says. “We can test that theory. We'll spitball some ideas on the subway.” Dave just hums noncommittally, and Farkle reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay to still love him,” he assures. “Even if he's just a jerk.”

Dave huffed and eats another spoonful, this one far larger than the last. “Are you a mind reader now too?”

Farkle smiles ruefully and shakes his head, turning the gentle shoulder touch into a one-armed hug. “Just a good friend,” he says gently, and Dave snorts. “Besides, I still love him too - maybe in a different way - even though he's a jerk.”

“A big jerk,” Dave huffs. “The worst, in fact.”

At that, Farkle frowns, and recalls the glance Yogi gave Dave just before the levitation incident. “Any idea why he'd be mad at you?”

For a moment, Dave just shakes his head. Then he frowns. “Nigel asked me to the school dance,” he says unsurely. “But that shouldn't make Yogi angry. He doesn't care… right?”

Farkle doesn't answer. Dave doesn't seem to really need him to. They watch as the sunset goes down until Dave has to begin to catch the long subway home, all the while telling Farkle about how stupid and wonderful Yogi is. Back to normal, indeed.


	3. dream of what i need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA i am so sorry for the gap in between chapters, and im so sorry that this is so much shorter! it was finals week last week, so i was studying like crazy and im v sorry i didn't find time for my favorite project. im also balancing a couple other larkle aus and it's beginning to feel like a circus in here so... wish me luck!

From that day forward, Dave and Farkle continue to test the emotional response theory. Yogi still came with them every day, despite their small fight the other day. At first he was still mopey and angry, but then Dave explicitly asked him to help at some point and he happily obliged. Occasionally, he sits out while Dave and Farkle work, doing his homework or playing video games on his phone. Farkle thinks Yogi might still be mad at either Dave, himself, or both, but Farkle manages not to say anything. He’s a little busy as Dave finds more and more ways to trigger an emotional response. He’s not typically a superbly emotional person - as he’s noted before, being raised by a human supercomputer and a fairly typical clinical E.R. doctor did not do wonders for a stable amount of emotional vulnerability. They manage to produce pride, and fear (mostly when Yogi breaks various limbs on purpose just to “help the cause,” despite vehement protests from both of his friends), and very occasionally anger. However, they haven’t managed to find any new powers just yet. He’s used his healing powers many times now (thanks pretty much solely to Yogi), and even flown (or, technically, levitated) laps around the park a few times when it became dark and they were sure no one was going to see him. All it took was a reminder of Billy Ross and the rope climbing incident of seventh grade, and Farkle was annoyed and angry enough to will himself off the ground.

After countless trials, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, the three boys all lay around on the lawn of what has become their park, exhausted. Farkle had just spent the past ten minutes or so levitating to save Yogi from a tree, which he had climbed up and then promptly had a panic attack in, flashing back to the last time the three of them had climbed a tree. Dave, Farkle suspects, is more laying on the ground with them in solidarity rather than exhaustion, although they had all been out in the park since eight o’clock that morning, as they had every Saturday (plus every single weekday after school) since his dad’s resignation. Three weeks have passed in that time, and they’ve been out training and experimenting every day - so far, levitating is the only thing that’s come of it.

They’ve been sitting in silence for a while, Farkle trying his hardest to recover from the emotional stress from just a few moments ago. Off to his left, he hears a grunt of discontent followed by a short sigh. “I don’t get it,” Yogi says eventually, sitting up to look at his friends. They’re sitting in a near perfect triangle, with Dave and Yogi off beyond Farkle’s feet. Farkle cranes his neck and squints to look up at Yogi in the burning sun. Dave, off to his right and Yogi’s left, keeps his face and body angled away from the glare and Yogi, instead facing the long line of trees that shields them from civilization. “We’ve been testing this for almost a month, and we’ve only discovered two powers. What gives?”

Farkle doesn’t answer, just blinks at his friend with tired eyes. They’ve been awake since six in the morning, and it’s nearing three. He doesn’t have the answers - he just has a deep need to take a nap. Due to the resounding silence, Dave sighs and sits up, leaning on an elbow exposed by his rolled sleeve and looking at them over his shoulder, eying them over the tops of his sunglasses. “It’s quite possible he only has two powers,” Dave says. “It’s just that the standard is _typically_ three powers.”

Yogi throws his arms up. “What?!” he yelps. “He might not even have another power and yet we’re still out here losing our minds?!”

“It’s _possible_ ,” Dave repeats, clearly annoyed. “It’s not probable. It’s possible that he has only two powers, but more likely than not, a third is still dormant. I believe the phrase would be -”

“Better safe than sorry?” Farkle cuts in, the first time he’s spoken in around fifteen minutes.

Dave nods in approval. “Precisely,” he agrees. “I would rather go through every power twice than never know.” He huffs and turns back around, looking off into the trees again. “Maybe your third power will stay dormant forever, who knows. But I would rather help you then let you down. Friends stick together, Mink.”

His chest warms and tingles hearing Dave use the nickname - Yogi uses it all the time, like a comfortable sweatshirt or a warm pair of gloves. Dave often forgets that it’s even there. But when he does use it, well, he really means it.

Yogi smiles at him. “Yeah,” he says. “We stick together.”

Farkle smiles and lets his eyes flutter shut, basking in the warmth of the sun. “Together,” he whispers, and it feels like a promise. It feels like hope.

\--

Farkle returns home like he typically does on a Saturday, at around four o’clock. His father is standing in the living room, searching the drawer of a nearby end table. “Farkle,” he says, smiling at him. “How was your weekly hike?”

He internalizes his wince and smiles back instead. He had nearly forgotten that he told his parents that he and his friends were going on weekly hikes. It was pretty surprising that they had believed him at all, to be honest, because he’s not a hugely athletic person. By not a hugely athletic person, it should be noted, he means that he’s basically useless anywhere near rinks, hoops, bats, or anything else having to do with sports. Hiking may be a little different in the long run, he supposes, as it’s not an actual sport and more of a physical activity. But between his lack of limb coordination and Dave’s asthma and Yogi’s tendency to become easily bored, they really should have figured out that something was up.

“Father,” he replies at last, jettisoning past his internal monologue with relative ease. “It was nice. Yogi had a panic attack after climbing a tree and then we laid down in a field.” Neither untruthful, he notes happily. He hates lying to his parents.

Stuart hums happily. “I’m glad you’re having fun, kiddo,” he says happily. Then he yelps with triumph as he pulls something from the drawer. “Jennifer!” he calls. “I found my kippah!”

As if on cue, his mother exits the hallway, presumably coming from their bedroom, and she smiles at them. “Good job, honey,” she says kindly, instead of saying _I told you so._ Farkle is so proud of her, she’s come so far. She turns her smile on Farkle and reaches down, adjusting the strap on her left heel. “Welcome back, sweetie. I would say you might want to hurry and get ready for temple, but your father barely even knows his kippah from the screws, bolts, and other odds and ends hidden in the end table.”

Stuart chuckles and begins to secure his kippah. “You’ve got me there, darling,” he replies, then turns to Farkle and shrugs. “Your mother is right, though, you may want to hurry. If we’re late, Rabbi Greenberg will… well, let’s say he’ll go against his rabbinical training.” Both of his parents grin, first at each other, then at him.

Farkle huffs his own small laugh, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’ll go get ready,” he promises.

“Then after we can grab sushi,” Stuart says chipperly. “And then watch _Doctor Who._ ” Then he frowns and points at Farkle. “But no Moffat episodes. Right?”

He can’t help his grin that comes at his father’s words. His dad, while balancing being a superhero and a husband and Stuart Minkus: Secret Cover Family Man, found time to listen. If he had a well-balanced emotional system and wasn’t terrified of accidentally triggering his secret superpowers, he would be touched. “ _Some_ Moffat episodes,” he corrects. “We can watch _The Empty Child_ until my eyeballs bleed.”

Meanwhile, Jennifer smiles until that last comment, then wrinkles her nose. “Okay, maybe we don’t want… that to happen,” she says evenly. “But we can watch it. As long as you’ve finished your homework.”

Oh, he’s finished his homework. He’s always finished his homework. But he smiles and nods and watches as his dad - his dorky, funny, superb dad - pumps his fist like a weirdo. Farkle chuckles and Stuart reaches to pat him on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Farkle,” he says. “Now come on, let’s go profess love to a god who definitely doesn’t believe in time travelers or aliens or…” He frowns and turns to Jennifer. “I was going to say Steven Moffat. Is Steven Moffat Jewish?”

Jennifer just blinks. “Sweetie, you’re the supercomputer,” she replies to the bizarre question. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

As Stuart attempts to break down the entirety of the tv show _Doctor Who_ into a few short sentences in a valiant effort to explain it to Jennifer, who looks utterly baffled and confused, particularly by the time he begins to explain what a “dalek” is, Farkle shuffles off towards his bedroom to get ready for services. They go fairly often as a family on Saturdays, unless for some reason Jennifer has a shift (although she usually requests off each Saturday) or, pre-retirement, Stuart had been away on call. Farkle wasn’t quite sure where he stood with God at the moment - he knew he believed in science, and he knew that he was a firm believer in questioning everything and to think outside of the box that they were brought up in. It makes his parents happy though, so instead of allowing himself to question anything, Farkle searches for the kippah at the top of his closet quietly.

\--

Yogi and Dave sit down across from him at lunch on Tuesday with a flair of dramatics as well as an air of sobriety. Farkle, who was chewing happily on his egg salad sandwich until just now, puts it down slowly on his plate and raises a brow. He wants to ask what’s going on, but his mouth is full and he knows he doesn’t have much time until Yogi starts talking anyway. “We have a problem,” he says.

Dave sighs. “Remember how I was never allowed to go out and hang out with you guys before?” he asks, and Farkle nods. “Well, that ban is making a return with an iron fist.”

Farkle feels his face fall, mouth falling open thankfully just after he swallows. “What?” he asks. “Why?”

“My mom doesn’t really buy the whole ‘project’ cover story anymore,” he says, “so this is kind of my last week before it’s all over. She says it can’t possibly take more than a month to complete.”

He looks between his two friends. Dave is staring dejectedly at the table, brown paper bag sitting in front of him. Yogi pokes at his cheese fries, the orange tray they sit on almost brighter and more garrish than the cheese whiz he’s eating. They, much like he, had began to take Dave’s newfound freedom for granted. The return of his mother’s overbearing and strict rules was devastating not only to their personal lives and friendship but to their hard work dedicated to Farkle’s superpowers. They were three fourths of the way through the list Dave had - much in part to Yogi skipping some based on the sheer principle of boredom. They couldn’t give up now - well, he supposes they could, He could just go to his dad, tell him what was happening. Tell him his son was a second rate superhero with two minor powers to his name. It hurt Farkle just to think it.

Then he suddenly has an idea. “Hey,” he says slowly, “how long has it been since you asked your mom to stay the night?”

Slowly, Yogi and Dave exchange a glance. He hates it when they do that. Then they look back at him and Dave says, “Uh, five years? We were eleven and I had a foolish idea called hope embedded in my soul.”

“Right,” Farkle says, slowly, then shakes himself. “What do you think about asking again?”

Both boys just blink at him. Then Yogi bursts into laughter and Dave shakes his head. “What, and listen to a thirty-five and a half minute lecture about the downtrodden hysteria of the nation in the wake of the rise of homosexuality?” Dave asks. “No thanks.”

“He's got a point,” Yogi agrees, wiping tears if laughter from his eyes. “I like wild and crazy ideas as much as the next guy, Mink, but getting Missus P to agree to a sleepover is as likely as Sarah Carpenter actually going on a date with Wyatt Dunlap.” Farkle and Dave both just stare at him, and Yogi rolls his eyes. “For two gays, you sure are terrible at keeping up with the gossip going around school. Okay, well, the short translation is: not very freakin’ likely.”

As Dave opens his mouth to bicker, Farkle manages to cut in. “Tell her it's for the project,” he hurries to say, “and then we can stay up through the night testing all the powers we have left.”

“And after that?” Dave asks, raising a brow.

“I go to my dad,” Farkle promises. “And I tell him everything.”

Reluctantly, Dave agrees and resolves to ask his mom this evening after dinner. Farkle can only hope it pulls through.

\--

The days seem to crawl by until Saturday. They still go out everyday, but it isn’t the same as it used to be. Dave is constantly glancing at his phone and getting lost in his thoughts and Yogi keeps looking at Dave as though he may disappear. Farkle is just attempting to keep them all afloat as they lay out in the grass of their little park. As he tests out his molecular structure, attempting to fade wholly into the ground, his two friends lay next to him, either out of sadness, exhaustion, or an effortless attempt to fade into the ground with him. Either way, it doesn’t work for any of them, and they’re eventually forced to get up and move on.

After Dave’s mom (reluctantly, after a four hour argument including a Google Slides presentation that Farkle and Yogi _both_ helped to make and a promise to clean the house from top to bottom on Sunday) agreed to letting him attend the sleepover on Saturday, they were all going a little stir-crazy. Dave is both nervous and excited, and is very clearly jumping out of his own skin at every waking moment. On the one hand, he’s constantly on edge; every time his phone buzzes, he jolts and jumps for it, worrying it’s his mom changing her mind or telling him to come home that instant. On the other hand, he’s (clearly) never slept over anyone’s house before, and is extremely excited by the prospect. He has Farkle thank his parents in advance for allowing he and Yogi to stay over (even though Yogi has been staying the night at Farkle’s house since they were five years old and, as Jennifer insists, it is absolutely no trouble), and plans on making his seven layer bean dip. While Dave bounces with nervous energy, Yogi is just attempting to keep himself and his emotions in check, and he, too, fears Dave’s mother and the tight grip she has on her boy. It’s like he thinks Dave will just… disintegrate at the snap of someone’s fingers. He’s even getting as physically close as he is mentally, leaning into Dave’s sides or clapping a hand on his shoulder for longer than necessary. And meanwhile, Farkle… Farkle has no idea what he’s doing. Let alone have a plan for their all-nighter on Saturday.

So, yeah. Between the three of them, a moment of quietly laying in the grass and trying to sink into the dirt is not the worst thing in the world. But Saturday is coming, and it’s coming fast. As each moment passes, all they have is less time to figure this out together.

\--

After services on Saturday, at around 7:30 pm, Stuart drives over to Yogi’s and Dave’s houses with little to no fanfare. Nothing fantastical happens, besides the appearance of Dave’s most famous and coveted dip and a heavy rainstorm pounding at their car windows; no radioactive poolage spills, no major drug bust on the corner of their street. To the unknowing eye, they looked like three regular children and a regular father with a couple of regular sleeping bags stacked in their trunk. Little did the world know, the car held at least two superbly abled people (with, admittedly, some fairly regular sleeping bags stacked in their trunk). Farkle was going to find his third power tonight or die trying, and to be quite honest, he feared the second option a fair amount.

Once they pull up to the apartment, the three boys bound inside and, too full of useless energy, groan as they wait for the elevator. Stuart chuckles at their excitement for their sleepover, and pushes the button to lead the elevator to them. Once they finally do get in and to the top floor, after a climb that took what seemed like forever, the three boys bound inside the apartment and rush past Jennifer with polite but short hellos before running right to Farkle’s bedroom.

As soon as they get inside, Yogi and Dave drop their bags. Yogi flops onto Farkle’s bed, and Dave crosses his arms. “What now?” he asks, and Farkle was wondering the same thing.

Before he can answer, Yogi pipes up. “Now, I go make some popcorn,” he grunts, standing reluctantly as if his sixteen-year-old body was as creaky and nasty as an old man’s. “That’ll give Farkle some time to come up with a plan.” He grabs Dave by the wrist and drags him towards the kitchen, muttering something about the whole sleepover experience, and judging by the way Dave is bouncing on his heels, Farkle would guess that he’s rather excited.

Farkle flops down on the bed and sighs. Everything is falling apart; his family, his friends, his heroic status. Nothing is as it should be. The three boys should be allowed to galavant around New York, not having to worry about anything other than homework, let alone soulmates and superpowers and superbly overbearing mothers. He shouldn’t have to worry about his father finding out about a talent he has, he should be proud and willing to show it off. And he shouldn’t be worried about “how much” of something he is.

 _A Farkle is the only thing a Farkle can be_. He’s pretty sure Yogi said that to him once, or maybe he read it on one of those personalized fortune cookies. Wherever he heard it from, he liked it a lot, and he likes to take from it occasionally. Well, before now, that meant when he was worried about qualifying for the science fair tournament or why Billy Ross would possibly pick on him, but it applies to heroism too. Even if he only has two powers, even if he’s only half the superhero he’s supposed to be - that’s okay. He’ll work twice as hard, he supposes. They’re pretty cool powers, too, if he does say so himself, and he’s proud of them. _It’s quality, not quantity,_ he thinks, and then laughs a little at himself. It sounds like a consolation. Maybe it is.

For a moment, he takes pause. He listens to the quiet of the room, and then beyond that; even this many stories up, he can hear the steady hum of city life, as the cars rush past and the house cats yowl at the pretty yellow moon. If everything does go to shit tonight, at least he has this; he has here and now. He can’t help but look at his wrist and wonder where they are and what they’re doing. He hopes they’re okay.

Speaking of soulmates… Dave and Yogi have been gone for a little too long, haven’t they? He frowns at the unopened door, then pushes himself up and off towards the kitchen. He exits the long hallway of bedrooms and walks into the open floor space, watching Dave and Yogi in a seemingly intense discussion as they huddle together in his kitchen. They’re neither whispering nor yelling, nor really speaking at a normal volume, but instead falling somewhere in between. He clears his throat as he sets foot on the kitchen tile, causing them to jump apart and eye each other and him awkwardly. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

Yogi is quick to shake his head. “Not at all!” he replies, at the same time Dave says, “A little.” They cut each other yet another glance, seemingly miffed if not a little angry, and then turn to Farkle in unison. “We were just having a discussion,” Yogi says, calmly. Dave rolls his eyes.

“We were arguing,” he says bluntly.

“Discussion,” Yogi replies.

“Argument.”

“Discussion.”

“Argument.”

“Discussion!”

With that, Farkle fans out his hands. “Guys!” he says. “Come on! Didn’t we just have this discussion about doing everything together? I can’t have you guys arguing about whether or not you’re having an argument.” He sighs and looks around at them, then back down to his feet to make sure he isn’t levitating again. Once he’s assured his Converse are still planted firmly on the ground, he looks up at them again and raises an eyebrow. “Got it?”

They grumble but nod; Dave crosses his arms over his chest and Yogi looks at the floor. Farkle sighs. “Okay, good,” he says.

There’s a few moment’s pause, then Dave clears his throat. “So,” he says, “what exactly is the plan, Farkle?”

Oh, right. That’s what he was supposed to be doing while they were… discussing. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Opens it once more. And then -

“Stuart! Stuart!” His mother’s frantic cries get their attention, and with one glance at each other, they all dash to where she’s glancing out the window. “Stuart, come quickly!”

“What is it, Mom?” Farkle asks, glancing at her worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

She swallows and looks at him, giving him a half-baked smile. “Everything’s fine, my love,” she promises, a little hollowly. “I just - this is something your father should deal with.”

He hears Yogi mutter a swear, and follows their sightline out the window. In the street, a little girl has gotten her leg stuck in a rather awkward collapse in the road, twisted at an angle that’s clearly unnatural. Her mother, he assumes, who is rather small and frail and clearly unable to do anything to help, is calling frantically for assistance, waving her arms between weak attempts to remove her child from the danger. Meanwhile, raindrops fall from above, quickly coating both mother and daughter in slick wet, and a car zooms past from the opposite direction, sliding on the slippery tar. There are no other cars in sight, but knowing New York, that won’t last for long. Farkle feels his heart leap into his throat. They’re in real danger.

Stuart comes running from the bedroom, his eyes wide in panic as he joins Jennifer and the boys at the window. He looks out upon the landscape, quickly taking in the scene unfolding before him, before looking at Jennifer. Between the two of them, a silent conversation is exchanged, and Jennifer gives a short nod before Stuart shuffles away towards the balcony door.

Farkle follows, Dave and Yogi behind him, Jennifer’s calls for them to stay back falling on deaf ears. They watch as Stuart, covered in rainwater, pulls his shoes on over the thick, woolen socks Farkle had gotten him for Christmas. Soon, they step out and are all instantly soaked, Farkle’s spiked hair deflating and Dave’s breath hitching. “Are you going down there, Mister M?” Yogi calls over the deafening sound of the rain.

Stuart looks over his shoulder at all three of them, and swallows before he too yells over the rain, “Boys, go back inside. It’s dangerous out here!”

“No, it’s dangerous down there, sir,” Dave corrects, pointing down to the mother and daughter. All four look down at them gravely. “How are you going to help?”

At that, Stuart huffs a laugh. “I may not be The Mighty Oak, but my strength did greatly improve during my time with the Super League. I’m going to pull the girl out, try not to hurt her leg any more than it is, and then send them off to a hospital. I may have swore off hero-ing, but I’m not heartless.” He sighs and shakes his head, droplets coming off of his hair in waves. “The only problem will be getting down there.”

 _I can levitate._ The thought of using his powers in front of his father is both humiliating and frustrating, but really, he’s the only one suited to handle this situation. He may not be as strong as his father, but he can get them both down there _and_ heal the girl’s leg to boot. The three boys look at each other, all thinking the same thing, and then Yogi winces. “Take the elevator down?” he suggests.

Stuart shakes his head. “There's no time,” he replies. Then he looks over the ledge of the balcony, as if he's considering breaking his own leg just to get down there.

A heavy weight lands on Farkle's shoulders as he realizes just what he has to do. “Father,” he says quickly, “grab my waist.” Stuart gives him an off and disbelieving look. “Just do it!” he implores. It must be an urgent tone he’s probably never used before, as his father hastily wraps his arms around Farkle's waist, and Farkle gives Dave and Yogi one last withering look before taking off.

It's hard at first; he usually either flies on his own or with Yogi (poor Dave is afraid of heights), and his father’s weight is obviously vastly different than Yogi’s. Plus, for a few moments, Stuart shrieks as they take off, and he scrambles to hold tighter to his son. But soon they’re situated, and speeding towards the scene. “You can fly?!” Stuart yelps.

“Levitate,” Farkle calls back, because he can’t help himself.

Neither say anything else as they jettison twenty stories down to the pavement below, angled towards the mother and child. They land on the pavement next to them, and Stuart shoots Farkle a look somewhere between shock and anger, but quickly disregards his own feelings in favor of helping the family in need. “Hi,” he says softly, leaning down to talk to the little girl. The mother is still in hysterics, crying and thanking them, and Farkle gives her a half smile. “My name is Stuart. What’s your name?”

“Ava,” the little girl blubbers. Farkle imagines she’s in intense pain, but her crying (though snotty and clearly upset) is mostly silent.

Stuart nods sincerely. “Ava,” he repeats, “that’s a nice name. Well, Ava, I’m going to help you out of here, okay? What I need you to do is to be a big girl for me while I help get you out of that nasty hole in the ground. And then we’re going to -”

“Fix your leg,” Farkle blurts. Both his father and the little girl look up at him, confusion dancing in their eyes. He awkwardly squats down next to his father, and smiles. “I can fix your leg up after you’re out, if you’d like.” She looks wary behind her glassy eyes, but nods all the same, and he smiles at her. Tentatively, she smiles back.

Quickly, his father begins to pry at the ground, Farkle helping even though strength is clearly not his, well, strong suit. They open the hole so that it’s large enough that she can slip out without further injuring herself but still as quickly as possible, and she does, still crying. Her mother is beyond words at this point, still blubbering wildly as they pull Ava’s leg out and place her gently on the ground. The leg is fairly bad; there’s a bone out of place underneath the skin, not to mention it’s covered in other abrasions and wounds up to her knee. He can’t imagine what it feels like, or how much she fears it getting _worse._

Farkle turns to Stuart and nods at the mother. “Get her back to the sidewalk,” he says quickly. Stuart merely raises his eyebrows and sits back on his haunches, so Farkle continues. “Ava clearly can’t walk and I’m afraid that if I jostle her too much or put her through any more pain she might go into shock. I’ll heal her leg here -”

“Can you _do_ that?” Stuart cuts in, sounding flabbergasted. Farkle ignores it.

“ - and bring her back as quickly as possible. Worst comes to worst, I’ll fly her out of here before any more cars can come barreling down.”

As if to prove his point, another car skids along the opposite direction, splashing water everywhere as it struggles to stay on course. Stuart frowns, then points at Farkle. “We are not done this conversation,” he says firmly, before picking up the mother bridal-style and sprinting to the opposite side of the street.

That leaves Farkle and Ava. He smiles at her again, and reaches out, gently, towards her leg. Before he can even touch her, she winces, and he draws his hands away. “I won’t put you through any more pain,” he says sincerely. When she still frowns suspiciously, he holds out a pinky. “Promise.”

She locks pinkies with him, then nods and allows him to close in on her leg with his hands.

When he does, it’s the same feeling of healing that he’s experienced many times, but that is still just as mind-boggling as the first. The power rushes from his chest and through his veins into his fingertips, and his mind runs through the motions: _heal the leg, help the girl, heal the leg, help the girl._ In his mind’s eye, he pictures the bones snapping back into place, resetting itself with ease. He hears Ava gasp faintly, but continues as if she didn’t. He imagines all the cuts and bruises simply fading away, slipping off of her like a temporary tattoo. She will have two perfectly matching, perfectly unscathed legs, and everything will be okay.

He looks up when he feels like he’s done, and sure enough, Ava’s leg is perfectly healed. She looks up at him through her unshed tears with a sort of awe, and he smiles at her, holding out a hand to help her up. She takes it and he lifts her to his hip, letting her sit there with only minor difficulty. (Like he said, strength is not his strength.) “Let’s get you home, huh?” he asks, and she nods vigorously.

“Farkle!” he hears suddenly, and he looks over to see Dave, Yogi, Stuart, and Ava’s mother all standing outside of the building. They’re all soaked to the bone, and they all look panicked. Yogi is pointing frantically off to the side, and Dave has his hands cupped around his mouth. “Car!”

Farkle looks over, and sure enough, a car is skidding towards them, its brakes squeaking in the rain with a fruitless attempt to stop before hitting them. There’s no time to take off, he realizes, and fear spikes through his heart. Well, he healed Ava once, he can do it again; it’s himself he’s unsure of. He tucks Ava close to his body, shielding her with his chest and back, and holds out a hand to - to what? Stop the car? He’s not sure. But he holds out a hand and gives a shove, putting all of his energy into it.

His face is tucked into Ava’s neck, but he does hear a solid _thud_ and the louder sound of tires screeching as the car skids once again. But, as he looks up and Ava does too, he realizes that they weren’t hit. Not even a little. He checks her over for scrapes, then looks logically towards where the car should have hit them.

A semi-transparent blue wall stands in front of them, suddenly, and the car (which suffers from some damage and has a dent in its grill where it didn’t before) has skidded off to the side. _Force field,_ he thinks. Okay, so, at least he uncovered his third power.

He looks off towards his friends and family, all of whom are gaping at him. He blinks, slowly, then opens his mouth, unsure of what he wants to come out. What he settles on is: “Oops?”

By the look on his father’s face, “oops” doesn’t begin to cover it.

\--

They send the mother and daughter on their way (with the promise to attend dinner with them sometime as a form of “repayment,” even though both Farkle and Stuart insist it was no trouble at all) and pay out of pocket for the dents in the motorist’s car. Throw in a signed picture from Medulla and all of their problems went away near instantly.

Well, all of their non-familial problems. Their familial problems only extended once they walked through the apartment doors.

Stuart is currently pacing the floor of the dining room, and Jennifer sits on one side of their dining table with her hands clasped in front of her. Farkle, Yogi, and Dave sit on the other, all fidgeting nervously and staring down at their own hands. They’ve been sitting/pacing in silence for at least ten minutes, not that Farkle is counting, and it’s beginning to become unbearable. Just as Farkle is sure Yogi is about to say something, Jennifer clears her throat. “Boys,” she says, and her voice sounds scratchy, yet even. “How long have you known?”

The three boys in question look at each other with wide, guilty eyes. “Uh,” Farkle says, “about… a month?”

Jennifer sharply inhales, but Yogi shrugs and adds on, “Probably closer to five weeks.”

Stuart stops then and stands behind Jennifer. “Five weeks?!” he yelps.

“Only about the healing, sir, and ma’am,” Dave interjects suddenly. “We only found out about the levitation…” He deflates as he realizes his point is virtually useless. “Four weeks ago.”

Yogi adds helpfully, “The force field thing was just tonight, promise!”

They watch as Jennifer puts her head in her hands and Stuart resumes pacing as well as crazy muttering. “Can’t believe I didn’t know,” he’s saying. “Under my own roof, he is, and I had no idea this whole time.”

The boys exchange another glance, now concerned, and Farkle licks his lips before speaking up. “I was going to tell you,” he says, “I swear. I just wanted to make sure I had… control on the situation before I came to you.”

“Control?!” Stuart squeaks. “Control! You lost control the moment you got powers, Farkle. You should have come to us the _moment_ you realized you had powers.”

Farkle throws up his hand. “A minor power!” he says. “It’s not like I’m a super computer or a Time Turner or whatever, okay? Healing was nothing!”

“We were being responsible,” Yogi agrees. “We wanted to test everything out first before bothering you with it.”

Dave snorts. “Since when are you ever responsible?”

“You’re supposed to be on our side!”

“Who said I had to pick a side?”

All four men begin bickering back and forth about powers and control and responsibility. Eventually, it must become too much, and Jennifer groans and cuts in, speaking above all the madness nearly effortlessly. “It is something,” she says. Everyone falls silent and looks to her. She turns to Farkle and says, “Of course it’s something. We’re your parents, and everything you do is _something._ This is a pretty big something.” She sighs and looks at Stuart, who bows his head. “He’s our son, and he’s a teenager. He’s going to make stupid mistakes. This is a pretty stupid one, but still. You can’t blame him for not wanting to burden you, especially this soon after your retirement.” She turns again to the boys and adds, “This isn’t something you should have kept from us, but I understand why you thought you did. However, thinking we wouldn’t support you or know how to handle this…” Jennifer shakes her head. “Farkle Aristotle Minkus, I am so disappointed in you.”

There’s a long silence, in which Farkle feels both the weight of his mother’s disappointment and the use of his full name weigh heavily against him. Then Yogi huffs. “Your middle name is Aristotle?” he mutters. At that, Jennifer smiles.

“It’s a family name,” she says, shrugging. Then she looks at Yogi and Dave, who freeze under her gaze. “And you two - your job is to keep him out of trouble, not get him into more. I’ll have to call y-”

“No!” Yogi yelps, and they all turn to him in surprise. He swallows and continues, “Please don’t call Dave’s mom. He’ll never hear the end of it and we’ll never, ever get to see him again.” He shrugs and looks down at the table. “Call my parents twice, if you have to. Call my entire freakin’ family. Just don’t do that to Dave, Missus Minkus.”

Both Farkle and Jennifer just blink at him for a moment, and then suddenly, Farkle allows his eyes to cut to Dave. Dave looks on in total admiration, his eyes stupidly shimmering at the small act of kindness, and Farkle feels a pang in his chest for him. If only Yogi could see that look… Well, he doesn’t know quite what would happen. Maybe if he knew how in love with him Dave really is, the whole soulmate thing would be resolved.

“Very well,” Jennifer says on a sigh. “Yogi, I’ll be calling _your_ mother. Dave, you can, uh… Be punished by washing my dishes?” Dave snaps from his reverie, and nods sheepishly. “Farkle, we’ll discuss your punishment later. For now, the sleepover is still on, but you’re going straight to your room and I better not hear a single peep after 10:30. Farkle, you’re getting up early to go with your father to register and receive your license.”

Farkle’s heart drops to his stomach at the mention of registering, but they all nod just the same. After that, they’re all excused, and they head off to Farkle’s room in silence. Well, at least his friends were right about one thing; they really are all in this together. Down to the punishment for a crime that’s, really, only his own.


	4. streetwise hercules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS! chapter four! also im pretty sure this is shorter than the others and it's about 88% filler, so sorry about that. but i do like what i've done here, if i do say so myself. it is an important chapter for plot development and for character introduction, plus story building, so there is that. trust me this is not abandoned even if it looks it! sometimes the chapters are just a little bit harder to pump out is all - plus i have about a million and one side projects... anyway, im gonna fill this tag with fics if it kills me because frankly there's not enough and i love these boys, so sue me. love y'all and thanks for sticking around <3

The next morning is as awkward as it is rushed. Yogi and Dave are practically thrown out the door at 7:30 in the morning, and then the Minkuses eat a quick and quiet breakfast. After they’re done, at which point, in a stunning turn of events, Farkle is practically desperate for his parents to say anything at all, his dad drinks a cup of coffee and his mom hurries around getting ready for work. Farkle says nothing, just worries the countertop as he drums a rhythm with nervous fingers. Truth be told, he’s been agonizing over registration all night long. Dave talked through with him what the examination may be like about fifty times before 10:30 hit and they, wisely, went to bed. But no matter how much they speculated, they weren’t able to pin down the full details because, well, no one really knows the full details.

Getting registered is, although a governmental normality necessary for a large chunk of the population, sort of a mystery. Those who take the test are sworn to secrecy, and those who have broken the oath and shared the details of the test, though few and far between, all have fairly scathing differences in their stories that makes none of them completely credible. (Plus, those people, or those who aren’t vigilantes turned villains, are taken away or given a firm slap on the wrist for their troubles and tend never to speak of the infamous test ever again.) Farkle has no idea what to expect when he walks into the Superhero Administration and Acceptance Council’s hall. Would he find a desert wasteland? An arctic landscape? A replica of the city streets of New York City?

When his father finally downs the dregs of his coffee, all three Minkuses exit the apartment and begin a long and awkward descent to the lobby where they would split off. Jennifer would get into her little red Prius and drive one way across town to Mother Molly’s, and Stuart and Farkle would get into the family minivan and drive to the hall. If the drive down was anything like the elevator ride, though, Farkle could not say he was looking forward to it.

When the _ding_ of the elevator alerts them of their arrival on the first floor, Jennifer gives them both a kiss on the cheek and hurries off in the direction of her car, brought around front by the valet. Stuart, without saying a word, leads Farkle in the direction of the parking garage. The silence continues from the time they get off of the elevator to the time they get into the car, and even then there’s no sound except the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional click of the turn signal. That lasts about five minutes, before Farkle gets tired of the _oh, god, he hates me_ monologue running through his head and has to interrupt it. He clears his throat and says, “I don’t think I said it yesterday, but I’m sorry.”

After a moment, Stuart narrows his eyes, both hands still firmly on the wheel. “For?” he asks, and Farkle does not find this comforting.

“For not telling you,” Farkle replies uneasily. “About my powers. And, about, you know… everything I was doing.”

Stuart nods. “Thank you,” he says. Then the straightness in his arms deflates like a tired balloon, and he sighs. “I worry about you, Farkle,” he begins. Farkle blinks, because although he assumed his father loved him and cared about him, _worrying_ about him wasn’t really on the list of things to consider. His father had bigger things to worry about - the safety of the city, the maintaining of his secret identity. _Farkle_ had to be a lower priority, not that he minded. “I worry about you every waking moment on my life. I worry that you think you can’t tell us things, and I worry that, now that you have superpowers, your life will be in danger.” He drums his fingers on the wheel, and Farkle watches the pattern, wondering if his father is tapping along to a song. “I worry that you don’t know how much we love you and how important and breathtaking it really is to see you grow and learn and express yourself, even if it’s in a way we don’t understand or don’t approve of.”

Suddenly, he feels choked on the gravity of the situation. He knows, logically, that his parents love him - why else would they send him to school, or put a roof over his head, or feed and clothe him? But emotionally… emotionally, there was a gap. There had always been a gap. And now he feels that the gap may have been breached. “Oh,” he replies, because it’s all he can say.

“Gaining these powers is a part of growing,” Stuart continues. “And not telling us about them is a part of learning.” He clears his throat and, at long last, glances at Farkle. He thinks perhaps his father’s eyes may be a little shiny, but it may just be his imagination, or maybe a trick of the light. Never, in his sixteen years, has he ever seen his father cry - he would have no idea what he would do if that trend ended today. “Just do us a favor and keep us involved next time, okay?”

Farkle can’t help but think that there won’t be a next time, but he nods all the same. “Yeah,” he says, “of course.”

Stuart smiles. Then he turns on the radio, and although they’re still technically silent, the air is lighter and Farkle can finally breathe.

\--

They arrive at the hall at eight o’clock exactly, the moment the doors open. The building, as he knows, is fairly regular looking for a government building - plain white with standard architecture. If he was expecting any different from the inside, he was apparently in for a sore disappointment. The walls are a plain, muted yellow; the furniture is all made of dark brown wood, as are the doors. There are some pictures of superheroes and clippings of newspapers framed on the walls, and an overhead fluorescent light. It’s all so unextraordinary. Not many other people are there, and they’re all fairly ordinary as well - take, for example, a tired looking woman near the front of the long line of chairs, bouncing a baby on her knee as she reads through some forms. The baby is holding what looks to be a Flame-themed teething ring, and Farkle smiles at it as he passes. He follows his father to the front desk. The receptionist looks fairly disinterested in both of them, takes Farkle’s name and then hands them a large pile of forms before going back to clicking away at the computer keyboard. Farkle is no mind reader, but he gets the distinct feeling that the receptionist in question is actually playing solitaire instead of, oh, actually doing his job.

They sit across from a boy who can’t be more than a few years older than Farkle, going through the same pile of forms. He has brown hair, a flannel, and rips in his jeans. For a moment, Farkle’s heart picks up speed as a spike of intuition hits him like a freight train. He keeps his eyes trained on the boy as his father begins to speak about the paperwork, running Farkle through some of the basics. The boy looks up and smiles at him, and Farkle sort of hopes that he’ll give off a reason for the boy to worry about him in the next few moments. Books could fall on his head, perhaps, or maybe he could get a really nasty papercut. He knows soulmates don’t work like that - but he’s tired of being lonely. Being alone. All he needs are five words - seven syllables. Two pronouns, a couple verbs, a preposition. _I was worried about you._

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until his father snaps his fingers, and then he feels his face heat up as the boy grins at him again - a slow, easy, beautiful grin. “Sorry,” Farkle mutters, then takes the half of the forms his father hands him and gets to work.

A woman steps out of a door behind the receptionist’s desk. She has glasses, red lips, and her dark hair drawn into a tight bun. She bends down and whispers in the receptionist’s ear, then disappears quickly behind the door again. “Evan,” he calls out boredly. “The Council is ready to see you now.”

The boy across from him - Evan - stands up, his flannel falling open to reveal a Nightshade t-shirt. He looks at Farkle and smiles again. “That’s me,” he says.

Farkle’s heart falls. _Of course it’s not him._ When has life ever been that convenient? Plus, by the looks of it, Evan is far more interested in the soft planes of Nightshade than he would be in Farkle. Perhaps Farkle should have wor his Mirage t-shirt. (Okay, he doesn’t own one yet, but he could. Maybe Dave will get him one for his birthday.) But he smiles tightly anyway, and nods at the boy politely. “Good luck.”

The boy’s face doesn’t fall; his eyes don’t well up in disappointment, his shoulders don’t slump. His eyes don’t even light up in recognition, eyes flicking down and waiting for his words to transform from gray to black. If anything, his smile just gets a tiny bit brighter, and then he shuffles away to the desk.

Farkle forgets the brief moment of hope and goes back to his paperwork.

His father is already halfway through his stack, so Farkle figures he should probably get going. He goes through, mindlessly checking off each box, signing his name, answering the little amount of questions asked. He wonders if, when normies think about superheroes, they know that this is what the application process is like - sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, throwing check marks and signatures out mindlessly, waiting with bated breath for the receptionist to call you in a dull monotone. They probably think it’s a very glamorous, free lifestyle instead of the bureaucratic dredgery that he’s facing currently. He supposes that he himself never really thought of it until it actually applied to him.

Moments after Evan is called, the mother is called and she brings her baby with her as she stalks off to the back room. He wonders what will happen to it - will she hand it off to the examiner as she completes her test, or perhaps take it into the arena with her? Or, even worse - is the baby a part of her powers? He squirms uncomfortably at the thought.

The time seems to drag on as he waits to be called. He can hear the clock ticking away on the wall as he waits, taunting him almost. He thinks about Yogi and Dave and what they’re doing right about now. He imagines Yogi at home, a sibling hanging off each arm and another one on each leg while the fifth tries unsuccessfully to scale his back. He imagines Yogi’s mother giving him a kind and unbothered smile when he comes home, asking him to begin setting the table for dinner and to help his younger brother with his math homework. His father comes home, wiping the sweat from his brow and smiling, uniform still in place and still in tip-top shape. They sit down to dinner and talk about their days, Yogi practically bursting with information but sealing his lips shut for the sake of his best friend.

Then his mind wanders to Dave, and he tries not to outwardly cringe. The life he pictures for Dave is not anywhere near the same as the one he pictures for Yogi. Instead of walking into a warm house with people who love him awaiting him at every turn, he comes in to a cold stare and judging eyes. Dave, he imagines, enters the house to his mother’s crossed arms from her rocking chair, the bright white walls unnerving when paired with the scarlet piece of furniture. Farkle had only been to Dave’s house one time - back when his father was still alive and his mother was a little more relaxed, in around the third grade - for a birthday party. He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember the impression left on him by the walls and furniture. (He also remembers Dave bursting into tears at the sound of his mother’s voice, but he doesn’t like to think about that too much.) He knows Dave returned to his mother’s cold whisper, “ _David._ ” He imagines she got up from the rocking chair, strolling away only for him to sit down. He imagines her leaning down into his space, breath hot on his cheeks as she questions him about the night before. She might scowl or reprimand if she doesn’t get the answer she’s looking for, or if she thinks Dave is lying - or she may do something far worse.

Perhaps things aren’t that bad. But perhaps they are.

He allows his mind to drift from Dave before the thoughts overcome him entirely. He lets his mind wander to the other superheroes. He thinks of their all very stable, very singular superpowers and how he’s a multi. A multi, of all things. Sure, he has some fairly cool and useful powers - he was kind of doubtful up until the whole force field part, but now he thinks he may be okay. But god, his powers are all over the place - just like his thoughts. _Maybe I can be Thought Man,_ he thinks, with not a small twinge of amusement. _A representation of my own inner monologue._ He can see the headlines now - _Thought Man Climbs Up Tree and Saves Kitten. Thought Man Doesn’t Have Anything to do With Thinking?! Why is He Even Called Thought Man?_ Maybe Thought Man isn’t such a hot idea; he’ll save that for someone with, like, telepathy or something.

“Farkle?”

His thoughts shatter as he looks up into the bored face of the receptionist, who flicks an eyebrow at him, apparently thoroughly unimpressed. “You’re up,” he says flatly, “last door to the left.” Then he goes back to his laptop. Farkle wonders exactly how one of the most important moments in his life can be so boring for this stranger.

He and his father stand, shuffling over to the desk and dropping the mostly-finished-forms onto the desk. Then his father puts a guiding hand onto his shoulder and leads him into the back room, and that’s when everything goes dark.

No, literally. The transition from the dimly-but-still-functionally-lit lobby to the near pitch black of the corridor is both jarring and dizzying to say the least. Whereas the main lobby was lit like any regular governmental building, this gives off more secret agent vibes than anything else. He blinks his eyes and squints to adjust, still practically failing. He’s lucky his father’s hand still rests on his shoulder, or else he would be walking forward with his arms out, looking like a proper idiot.

As it is, though, they continue to walk in silence for about ten minutes until the light begins to fade back in. The hallway ends abruptly, and he feels his father lean out and grab blindly for the door on the left. When he finally does push it open and usher Farkle inside, it is, much to Farkle’s surprise, a room _much_ like anything else they’ve come across so far.

If the lobby told a story about everyday life, and the hallway was a horror story, than this room must be a spy film. The walls are dark blue, and, while far-better lit than the hallway, still fairly dimly lit. The room is circular, and looks into what looks to be a circular arena. It reminds him of something from a dystopian novel, like _The Hunger Games_ or _Divergent._ There are four other people standing, looking into the white room through one of the many long windows, talking in hushed whispers, and Stuart clears his throat loudly just to get their attention. They all turn to him, and while Farkle fails to recognize any of them, he can see that they know his father - their eyes light up in recognition, and a fair few of them smile. “Stuart,” says one, an older man with white hair and kind eyes. He looks to be the oldest of the four, and probably their leader, if the long golden robe is anything to go by. He steps forward and grasps Stuart’s hand, shaking it firmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, although I must admit, I did not expect it to be so soon.”

Stuart gives him a tight smile, and nods. “Yes, well, it is a pleasure.” When the handshake ends, he turns to Farkle, and in that moment, he looks so tired, and Farkle just wants to hug him, if even for a second. Hugging isn’t really a huge thing in their family, so it’s kind of an odd emotion to have, and it sets off an alarm in the back of my mind he didn’t know he had. “Son, these are the head members of the Superhero Administration and Acceptance Council. This is Captain Awesome, he -”

“Oh, come now, Stuart,” Captain Awesome chastises. “We’re all heroes here, aren’t we? The boy can call me by my first name if he chooses.” He turns to Farkle then and sticks out his hand, which Farkle accepts. “I’m Alan, Alan Matthews.”

Farkle smiles weakly, but nods. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Matthews.”

The man chuckles and lets go of Farkle’s hand. “Formalities,” he remarks. “I thought they were a thing of the past with your generation.” He stretches out an arm, the robe swishing with him as he goes, to the people behind him. “Ah, and these are my colleagues. That man is Mister Jonathan Turner, also known as Brutus.”

Mister Turner, a dark haired man in a purple bodysuit, steps forward, reaching out to grab Farkle’s hand as well. “Very nice to meet you,” he says formally, and his voice is deeper than Farkle expects. He then turns to Stuart, and smiles. “Stuart.”

This time, when Stuart smiles back, it actually reaches his eyes. Farkle gets the feeling that this man is someone his father respects, perhaps even admires, and the idea intrigues him. He wonders who this _Mister Turner_ is that he might gain his father’s admiration - the idea of anyone outside of George Feeny holding that position is strange and unfamiliar. “Mister Turner,” Stuart replies warmly.

A woman steps forward now, her dress surprisingly informal for what the others are wearing, a burgundy leather jacket slung over her shoulders with a black shirt, black pants, and black boots underneath. She reaches out to shake his hand before Alan even introduces her, saying, “This is Miss Harper Burgess, the youngest member of our council.”

“It’s a pleasure, but you need not be afraid of us,” she says kindly, and he blinks at her, confused. He is quite nervous, but he didn’t say anything about it. She glances over at his father and gives a warm smile. “And you do not have to be so tense, Stuart.”

She just chuckles as she drops his hand. “Don’t worry about Wanderer,” says the fourth from the shadows, “she’s an empath.” He steps forward into Farkle’s line of clear sight, and smiles. Something about him is… not off, nor inherently bad or evil. More smarmy, one might say, or greasy. The vibe he gives off is akin to that of a weasel in an oil factory. His arms are initially crossed, but he unfolds them as he shakes Farkle’s hand firmly and businesslike, and gives him a sharktooth grin. “Jack Hunter, and my alias name is Penbrook.”

Farkle resists the urge to wipe his hand after Mister Hunter walks away, and then instantly feels bad. Jack hasn’t given him any reason not to trust him, and he’s only known him for a few moments, and he hasn’t done anything overtly evil or untrustworthy.

“Well,” Alan says, at last, clapping his hands, “now that you’ve met all of our board members, I suppose it’s time to get down to business.” He turns to Farkle, his smile as bright as before and just slightly less intimidating. “Well, I assume your father told you all about the testing process.”

Farkle shakes his head adamantly, an admission of truth. “No, sir,” he replies. “My father took the oath at his testing process just like everyone else. He didn’t tell me anything.”

Alan nods at this, and Jack smiles again. It doesn’t comfort him much at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Farkle watches Harper give her own stilted nod, and at this, Alan smiles. He presumes she read his father’s mind (or his own, but he prefers not to think about someone stomping around his private space) to assess the truth of this statement. “Good man, your father,” Alan praises, reaching out to pat Stuart’s shoulder. Stuart neither flinches nor relaxes at the touch, just half-smiles. “In that case, I’ll tell you all about our vigorous but, uh, completely safe and comfortable tests that will either prove or disprove your, er, powers.”

In Farkle’s short and humble experience, anything that needs to be clarified as “safe” and “comfortable” are typically neither of those things. In fact, “safe and comfortable” usually indicates something that is both dangerous and, well, uncomfortable. Farkle’s wariness must show on his face, because Turner frowns and reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, and Alan chuckles. “It’s not that severe, young man. Follow me, and I’ll explain.”

The team of four lead Farkle and his father towards the windows The room they look in on is circular and completely white, the only exception being the windows that run all the way around. “What we’re standing on now is the observatory deck,” Alan explains, “from where the board will observe the test. When you enter the testing room, which you can see in front of you, you will be scanned by personnel for any weapons or superb ability boosters, neither of which are allowed within the confines of the testing room.”

Weapons? Superb ability boosters? Neither are things Farkle had even thought of. But all the same, he nods, and Turner speaks up. “Once you enter the room, the test begins,” he says. “Everything, from the way you hold yourself to the way you interact with your environment to your superb abilities, is called into question. _Everything._ ”

Jack crosses his arms, and nods along to his colleague’s words. “We will not guide nor help you during the test,” he says. “You are completely on your own. Every reaction is pure instinct and will be evaluated as such.”

“Your instincts are as intrinsic to your hero persona as your superb abilities,” Harper adds. “Just keep that in mind as they enter, and you’ll be fine.”

Farkle wonders how many times they had to practice that roundabout speech.

The adults wordlessly point him towards a door next to the one he came from, and, with one last look at his father, he opens the door and wanders forward into the abyss that threatens to swallow him whole.

Although the space behind the door is dark, his eyes adjust pretty quickly, and he can make out the stairs in front of him just enough to begin his descent. The steps are easy enough to maneuver, if maybe a little winding. He makes a few sharp turns, and he’s pretty sure he’s faced completely in the other direction by now, probably walking towards the white room. Once he’s fairly certain he’s reached the end of his descent, he begins wandering forward until he sees the beginnings of fluorescent lighting.

He trudges forward and sees two men in heavily guarded uniforms standing in front of what looked like a metal detector. They nod solemnly at Farkle and, without saying anything, guide him into it. The tube, or at least it looks like a tube, is completely clear, and he can see the men standing around him even as the door slides closed. As he stands stock still, afraid of setting off any sensors. One of the guards hits buttons on a small computer, and the other pulls a lever or two. A whirring noise begins, and Farkle shuts his eyes, holding his breath as the scanner goes off. After a few moments, there’s a beep, and a door opens on the opposite side from which he came.

The door in the wall that’s blocking the light slides open, and he’s immediately bathed in the brightness of the room. He squints and stumbles out into the room, the door almost immediately sliding shut behind him. He spins on his heel and reaches out to touch the wall, but feels no crack or opening of any kind. As he runs his fingertips over where the door once was, above him, a speaker crackles to life. “Alright, Farkle,” Alan Matthews’s voice calls out, calm and steady. He looks up and sees them standing on the observation deck, all five figures staring down at them. Their expressions are fuzzy from here, but he can make them all out, Alan standing on the middle and two heroes on either side of him. “We’re going to ask you to step to the center of the room.”

Farkle does as he’s told and takes a few steps to what he assumes is the center of the room. “Good,” Alan continues. “Now, take a deep breath.” He does. “Close your eyes.” He frowns, but does as he’s told, trying not to feel too anxious as he does so. “Count to four.”

 _One_. He takes another deep breath, and thinks about his dad. _Two_. He’s still up in the observation room, right? Farkle is technically still a minor. _Three_. He has to be there to… sign paperwork, maybe? He doesn’t know. He feels a panic attack coming on. _Four._

“Open.” Someone says it. Or do they? It feels more like a whisper.

He opens his eyes.

The white room is gone. The observation deck is gone. Instead, he’s on a street, right in front of a long and shadowy alleyway. New York City, he assumes, but to be fair, that’s the only place he’s ever been. The street is dingy and dark, dimly lit even in the stark blackness of the night. Which is - strange. Farkle thought it was eight o’clock in the morning just a few moments ago. Either this is a simulation, or he was teleported into a different city altogether. Being that he’s being tested by some of the most powerful people in the universe, he wouldn’t put either option past them.

There’s a rustling around him, and Farkle spins on his heel. He has no time to think about the time or the place - the test is all about reaction and ability. Whatever is circling him is, hopefully, no match for him. Hopefully.

More rustling comes from down the street, and just as he’s about to follow it, he hears a high-pitched whine that makes him stop in his tracks. It sounds so familiar and yet strangely foreign. He turns to the alleyway he was dropped in front of and begins to creep towards it, his senses on high alert. The whines increase in pitch and intensity as he steps forward into the shadows, and the hair stands up on the back of his neck when he hears a whispered, “Farkle?”

His eyes adjust as he blinks into the darkness, surprise and fear mixing together in a dangerous cocktail of high-strung emotion at the sight. She’s huddled in almost a ball, her back up against the brick of the building and her hands flung out at her sides in awkward angles. “Ava?” he whispers, and she nods, her blonde hair swinging with the movement. Her image makes it all feel far more real, and he steps forward again. “Ava, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, and even in the dim lighting, he can tell that he agrees. Her hair is matted to her forehead with slick sweat, and her skin is pale and stretched thin by her grimace. Her eyes are filled with fear and unshed tears, and from her stomach comes a steady and thick stream of blood. “I don’t feel so good,” she whispers, and Farkle feels himself swallow.

“Just - just hold tight, okay?” He shuffles towards her and puts his hands out. “Remember what I did for your leg?” She nods, weakly, and he gives her an attempted smile. “Okay, well, just like that. Exactly like that.”

He reaches forward and gently presses a hand to her stomach, his hand instantly feeling wet with blood and his stomach heavy with dread. Still, he surges his energy forward, screwing his eyes shut as he feels the transference of power. In his mind’s eye, the wound and typical scar fall away, wiping themselves from her body in one graceful movement. He would clean the blood, but he doesn’t know if he can, nor if he has the time. Once he’s done, he opens eyes to see Ava looking at him wide-eyed. She nods, once, and he nods back. “Okay,” he says, “Ava, can you tell me what happened?”

“He got me,” she whispers.

Farkle feels a chill run up his spine and his stomach flip, both for all the wrong reasons. He swallows, his throat feeling dry. “Who?” he asks. But he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer or not.

Before he can process it, Ava’s eyes widen in fear. She lets out a choked sob and, with one hand she reaches up to point behind him. Immediately on guard, he turns around.

A monsterous man appears at the end of the alley. He’s stacked with muscles, his skin a sickly green color, and he’s far larger than Farkle or any man that Farkle’s ever met for that matter, probably coming in at about eight foot or so. Farkle swallows and backs up against the wall, next to Ava. “Easy,” he calls out, for some reason, his own voice betraying him. As a hero, he knows he shouldn’t want to bargain with the villain; as a pacifist, he’s terrified of fighting. “We don’t mean any harm. You don’t take a step closer to me or to this little girl, and we’ll call it a day.” Ava looks to him nervously, and the man huffs, an angry noise in the otherwise quiet air of the alley.

With little warning, the man races forward, charging Farkle and the little girl. Farkle grunts in surprise and reaches out a hand, putting all of his energy into the creation of a force field. Like magic, one appears in front of him almost out of thin air, and the monster runs straight into it. Farkle hastily jumps to his feet, and holds his hand out for Ava to do the same. “That can’t hold him forever,” he says, because he’s about 85% sure it can’t. “We need to get moving. You afraid of heights?” She shakes her head. “Good. Grab tight.”

He hoists her onto his back and then takes off, launching himself into the sky with a strong push off the ground. “You see anywhere safe to land?” he asks, and she shakes her head. No, he doesn’t either; on either end their little street fades into complete blackness, and beyond the buildings on either side of the street, blackness envelopes there too. He swallows. _What would Medulla do?_ he wonders, and then realizes Medulla probably would have figured out who or what the monster was and how to defeat it by now. But instead of berating himself, he needs to think and act quickly as any other hero. So he jettisons them forward lands on the roof of one of the buildings, thinking it could only be a vantage point. There’s no way the monster could climb up there.

But he’s wrong, it seems. As he lets Ava down and begins checking her for any more injuries, the monster comes charging out from the abyss of the alley, then begins to climb the building with intense vigor. Ava screams, and Farkle picks her up and puts her on his back again, this time flying out and landing back where he came from, in the middle of the street. He doesn’t put Ava down, but watches as the monster struggles to climb off the building, yet to have seen them. He needs to think quickly; he could cast another force field, but that would only give him a few seconds before he had to run or hide again. And after he did, then what? The monster comes for them again. He wishes he had an offensive power, but to be fair, he never was a very offensive person. He screws his eyes shut and thinks, reaching deep into the recesses of his mind for _hope_ , something that can help him. He has to protect them, but how? He brings Ava closer and prays for a miracle, a chill running through his body now again for an entirely different reason: _fear._ Pure, unbridled fear. Not being creeped out, or spooked, but closer to death than you ever have been before.

There’s a loud thud as the monster hits the pavement, and a heavy footfall as he turns to face them. Then, a confused grunt. “Where the…?” The monster does not sound anything like he expected him to.

Wait a second. Farkle opens his eyes to see the monster looking around, confused. Looking at them and moving on. Looking past them. Looking _through_ them.

He looks down only to see the faintest outline of himself. _Invisible,_ he thinks, and grins. Perfect.

With a new power unlocked, he levitates into the air easily, watching as the monster stumbles forward, still utterly confused. Then, with as much power as he can muster, he puts one hand forward - the hand not keeping Ava balanced on his back - and envisions the force field he wants to create. _Circular; keeping something in not out; inescapable._ There’s a _thwap_ and a grunt of anger, then thudding as the monster bangs against the force field. He opens his eyes to see him trapped, and grins as he lowers both himself and Ava to the ground, letting her jump off his back.

He focuses on revealing themselves, and just like that, they’re back and visible. The monster sees them and gets angrier, banging more heavily on the force field. “We did it,” he says softly, then turns to Ava to - congratulate her, maybe, or tell her she’s safe. But she has a grin on her face that makes him step back a little, and her arms are crossed disconcertingly.

“Good job, kid,” she says, and he blinks in surprise.

The ground glitches beneath their feet, blinking away, and the city street disappears. All that is left is pure white, the ground of the training room reappearing beneath them. He blinks and squints in the light, and a door opens, revealing his father, Alan, and Harper, all looking at him in surprise. He looks back, equally shocked. This goes on for a while.

“Well,” Alan says eventually, clearing his throat. “That certainly wasn’t what I expected.” He gestures at the force field that remains in the room. “Can you please release my colleague?”

Farkle does; at the snap of his fingers, the force field holding the monster captive disappears, and the monster falls to the ground with a heavy thud. He groans, running a hand over his neck in a surprisingly human gesture. Then, in the blink of an eye, the monster is gone and Turner is left in his place. The sickly green fades away and leaves an even, tan skintone. “You put up a good fight,” he says, “for a kid with no defensive powers.” Then he reaches out to shake Farkle’s hand again. Farkle takes it.

Then he turns to Ava. “But how did…?” he wonders out loud. She grins again at him, and then something ugly happens. Unlike Turner’s transition, which was smooth and graceful, her skin and bones begin to stretch, and her shape transforms. Even her clothes, which had been the same ones he’d last seen her in, changed with her. What he’s left with is Jack, standing in his business suit. Farkle’s blood runs cold. “Shapeshifter,” Jack says, and it should sound like an explanation and not a threat, but it doesn’t.

He quickly turns back to the other adults, finding Jack as unsettling now as ever, and they all smile at him. Even Stuart gives him a watery smile, looking both proud and relieved. Farkle returns it. “Congratulations, Farkle Minkus,” Alan says, smiling and reaching out to pat him on the back. “You are welcomed to the Official Registry of Superbly Abled People.”

He’s unsure how to feel about that.

\--

“Wait, wait, wait, hold the phone,” Yogi says, holding up his hands to stop Farkle. “You unlocked a _fourth_ power? Is that even possible?”

The last question is, more or less, directed at Dave, who’s hunched over Farkle’s laptop and typing away. “It’s possible,” he admits, “but _extremely_ rare. Farkle is only one of fifteen people in the recorded history of the _world_ to have ever unlocked a fourth power as a multi. He’s made history.” Yogi whistles, and gives Farkle a thumbs up in pride.

If he’s being honest, Farkle doesn’t really know how he feels about the whole thing. He feels excited, sure, and a little relieved, but he should feel - scared? Invigorated? Powerful? He doesn’t feel any of those things. But he smiles back at Yogi anyway, and gives him a return thumbs up. “Anyway, continue the story, Mink,” Yogi says, making a waving motion with his hand. “Before I get old and die, preferably.”

Farkle shrugs. “Well, there isn’t much else to tell,” he says honestly. “I finished the test and passed. Then we signed some paperwork, I took an oath, and they added me to the registry of heroes. My dad drove me home, and we got ice cream and watched _E.R._ while my mom pointed out all the inaccuracies.”

Dave looks up, raising an eyebrow at Farkle. “And you’re not gonna tell us _anything_ about the test?” he asks incredulously.

“Dave,” Farkle scoffs, “I expected this of Yogi, but not of you. I took an _oath._ ”

Dave sighs and goes back to typing. “Curiosity killed the cat, I suppose,” he says evenly. “But I hope all those weeks struggling was worth it.”

Farkle smiles, remembering those weeks fondly despite all the bickering and disregard for friendship. “Yeah,” he says. “It was.”

Just then, there’s a soft knock on the door. When Farkle grants permittance, it squeaks open, and Stuart sticks his head inside, smiling. “Hey, guys,” he says. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“Aw, you, a bother Mister M?” Yogi asks charmingly. “Never!”

Stuart chuckles. “Thanks, Yogi, wish everyone saw it that way. Anyway, Farkle, you have mail.”

All three boys look at each other in confusion and faint surprise, but Farkle reaches forward and takes the envelope he’s offered. His dad quietly backs out of the room and as soon as the door is closed the other two boys huddle around him, all focused on the package in his hand. “What do you think it is?” Dave asks.

“Who’s it from?” Yogi asks in a similarly curious tone.

Farkle glances at the return address which, surprisingly, is left blank. “I don’t know,” he says dumbly, an answer to both questions, and with shaky fingers, opens up the envelope anyway.

The letter slides into his hands easily and he opens it up without preamble. Three sets of eyes scan the letter together, Farkle barely registering the words the first time and having to go in for a second read.

_Dear Mister F. Minkus,_

_Good day. I am writing to you on the behalf of the Young Super League. Possibly unbeknownst to you, one of the board members of the Superhero Administration and Acceptance Council took it upon themselves to send us a copy of the scores of the superhero test you were administered last Sunday. After a review of your test, on which you received a 634 out of 650, a score higher than almost any superhero in the past decade, and during which you only took a total time of five minutes and forty-two point seven seconds, it is with great pride and deep pleasure that we offer you a chance to work with our team of superheroes._

_This opportunity would include on-base training, a position amongst the highest ranking heroes of our nation, a lucrative salary, a spot in the heroes’ hall of fame, and much more. Time is of the essence, as we are attempting to rebuild the team dynamics as quickly as possible, and we believe that you are one of the candidates to help us do that. We would be obliged if you responded with great haste, as we are eagerly awaiting your response._

_To quote Commander George Feeny, a great man with whom both I and your father spent much of our time with: “A real hero is someone who does the right thing, even when the right thing is not the easy thing to do.” I hope that you will choose wisely, Farkle. Our team is in your hands._

_Sincerely,_

_Cory Matthews (AKA: The Seer)_

_Head of the Young Super League_

There’s a beat after he scans the letter a second time that his heart stops. And then restarts. He scans it quickly again, picking up words like _chance to work with our team, position amongst the highest ranking heroes, eagerly awaiting your response._ His breath stutters to a halt.

As much as he would like to continue rereading the letter and reliving the same moment, the magic is broken when Dave lets out a breath Farkle hadn’t known he was holding. “Whoa,” he mutters.

If the moment was broken then, it absolutely shatters when Yogi processes it all. He whoops loudly and jumps up on the bed, his giddiness almost infectious even despite Farkle’s complete and utter shock. (Almost.) “Farkle!” he shouts, fist pumping. “I can not believe this! I can’t believe my best friend is the coolest person alive!”

As Yogi rambles on about the pros of having his best friend join an elite team of superheroes, Dave raises his hand and places it firmly on Farkle’s shoulder. “You alright?” he asks, and after a moment, Farkle gives a shaky nod as best he can. “What now?”

With Yogi and Dave and the letter and so much happening, he finds it hard to think. So he doesn’t. He just swallows and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, because it’s as good as an answer as he can give Dave right now. He doesn’t _know_ what he’s going to do now. But what he does know is this:

Whether he joins the Young Super League or not… he’s pretty sure the next chapter of his life begins here and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET IT BECAUSE THAT'S WHERE I ENDED THE CHAPTER LMAO anyway i've been spelling feeny wrong this whole time and flip flopping on the spellings stewart v stuart so if y'all could politely kill me. also bet y'all thought that was lucas well JOKES ON YOU im not a quitter


	5. through the wind & the chill & the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, as we all may know, i've been a bit spoiler-y about this chapter on tumblr so if you saw that i apologize, and if you didn't you may not be following me on tumblr and boy gee howdy is that a mistake. anyway PLEASE come talk to me about gmw and/or larkle at [farklelucas](http://farklelucas.tumblr.com) on tumblr dot com, i would love that so damn much. there are gonna be more notes at the end so stick around for those and i apologize if this chapter is a little rough or rushed or filler-y, it's just that it was a little... rushed and rough and filler-y. ANYWAY thanks for sticking around i love you all.

Not long after, Dave leaves to head back home, wishing Farkle the best of luck. Farkle thanks him and, before thinking any better, reaches out and gives him a tight squeeze around the shoulders. Dave is stiff at first, confused by the sudden outburst of affection, but reaches out and hugs back regardless.

Yogi, on the other hand, stays for dinner begging for Farkle to let him see the moment he breaks the news to his parents. Usually, Farkle might be annoyed at this blatant invasion of privacy, but right now he was actually glad for the company. As much as he didn't want to tell his father he had been offered a position on his old team, for fear of what reaction he might get, he figured it might just be a little bit easier with Yogi there. At least, he thought, if he doesn't manage to get the words out from where they're wrapped around his tongue, there is an 80% chance that Yogi might just blurt it out for him.

Besides, the reason Yogi asks to stay is not because he's being an asshole or thinks little of the whole situation, or even really because he's being a good friend - okay, maybe partially because he's being a good friend. But Yogi has always been swept up in the world of superheroes, which neither Dave nor Farkle have ever understood. He collected books, magazines, and memorabilia all about heroes. Farkle was pretty sure he could design an entire outfit composed of Flame merchandise alone. To find out that his best friend is a part of the world that he's been in love with for so long, well, that has to be exciting. Partly, at least; Farkle expects that it also might sting a little, for Farkle to be a part of the world that Yogi held dear, especially since he had no care for the subject at hand. Farkle thinks that it would be like if either of his friends received a Hogwarts acceptance letter and he hadn't. (Although Dave and Yogi both care as deeply about Harry Potter as he does; they had all been to the midnight screening of the last movie together, and all waited up until the wee hours of the night to get onto Pottermore when it first opened. Yogi had taken the test, and accepted his results; Farkle had taken the test, disliked his results, and created a new account to take the test again; Dave had taken the test, seen his results, shrugged and said, “Although I knew this already and don’t find the basis of the test particularly comforting, it was an interesting way of determining our houses.” If that wasn’t the representation Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw respectively deserved, he wasn’t quite sure what was.) But to his credit, Yogi, at least outwardly, seemed very happy for him, practically bouncing off of Farkle’s walls as Farkle read and reread the letter and waited for dinner.

Eventually, his mother does knock to alert then to dinner, and they both jump out of their own skin anyway. With one last shared glance of both dismay and anticipation, the two quietly slip from the room and head toward the dinner table, Farkle, at least, feeling much like he was headed for the gallows.

As he approaches the dinner table, his parents greet them both with happy and welcoming faces, and he feels his stomach drop even farther than before.

“Come take a seat,” his father says invitingly, and his mother smiles. He smiles tentatively in return, and shuffles forward, Yogi at his heels, to the other side of the table. He takes the seat across from his father, and watches as his parents pick up their forks and begin to eat their meals, his mother casually chatting about her day at work. His stomach is turning so rapidly that he finds that he can't eat anything, so he just stares down at his plate, his caprese salad staring back at him with a sort of quiet contempt. After a few minutes of this, Yogi elbows him, causing him to blurt out in the middle of his mother's story about a malignant mole, “I just got a letter.”

His parents turn to look at him at once, the mole long forgotten in favor of Farkle's interruption. “Okay,” his father says, exchanging a quick glance with his mother. “What was it about, son?”

Underneath the table, Yogi kicks him. Then places a hand on top of his where it rests on his thigh. He doesn't know which he finds more comforting.

He drops his eyes from his parents and back to his salad, telling it instead of them. “It - it was from… Mister Matthews. He invited me to join the Young Super League.” He looks up then at his father, who looks at him with a head tilted and eyes squinted, like he's confused or trying to get a read on the situation. Farkle continues. “Someone on the board sent them my test scores, and they want me to be a part of their team.”

Afraid to continue looking at his father's face, he turns to look at Yogi, who is smiling at him proudly, and his mother, who is giving him a worried frown. “I don't have to take it. It's not mandatory, and they aren't going to arrest me or anything.” As he says it, he knows that even if he doesn't _have_ to go, he still wants to go. Something about it appeals to him; if he can help to save the world, he wants to do it, even if it means joining forces with strangers and moving out of his parents’ house. He swallows around the thought and quickly shakes himself, before turning to look again at his father.

He’s still squinting, his expression not changed much. He regards Farkle carefully, seemingly paused, and Farkle wonders if he’s developed the power of time manipulation for some reason. Eventually, though, he quirks his mouth and asks, “What do you want to do?”

Before he can think about it, Farkle blurts out, “I want to go.”

Jennifer looks at Stuart in surprise, but Stuart doesn’t look back. He simply smiles and nods, just once. “And go you shall,” he says warmly, and Farkle can’t help but blink, dumbfounded. He expected a fit, a hodgepodge of screaming and argument. But none of that comes. Instead, Stuart goes back to eating his food, and says, “We’ll arrange a meeting with Mister Matthews on Monday.” Farkle blinks. That gives him just a few short days to prepare himself, and although it may seem like a lifetime to The Seer, it seems like the very bare minimum for Farkle. He will have to spend the incoming days training and honing his powers, but he was sure his father knew that. He’s proven right when his father continues, “And in the meantime, if this is something you _truly_ want, you'll have to keep working on your powers.”

He puts emphasis on _truly,_ as if Farkle is still thinking about it. Perhaps he should be. But he isn't. He feels a weird sense of pride, doing something his father had done for so long, taking over in his stead. Even if it was a world he wanted no part in before, even if it was something he had even shied away from. This is something he feels as if he _needs_ to do.

The rest of the dinner is eaten mostly in silence, as long as Farkle ignores the high frequency at which Yogi is vibrating.

After dinner, Yogi bids them all farewell, as he has to watch his siblings for his parents and cannot stay any longer. Plus, they still both have school tomorrow--potentially Farkle's last day. He hasn't yet considered what his education may consist of once he joins the league. Will he have a private tutor? Will he participate in online schooling? Will it stop altogether?

No, that can't be the case. His father would never allow it--Farkle's education was of the utmost importance. Besides, Farkle would want to get a college degree in case, god forbid, he was injured on the job in some way and was unable to continue working as a hero. He supposed he could get it after the fact, but he would be more comfortable if he continued school as regularly scheduled. Perhaps not in the same place or time, but he still wanted to make it to college at eighteen or so. Maybe his education would be hero-focused; he could get a degree in a science or psychology related field and study heroism specifically. That would help both his safety and his security, wouldn't it?

He doesn't even think to ask his father and instead excuses himself after dinner, wanting to go read up on the Young Super League. He's read much about it already, just throughout his everyday life, but he thinks it might be better to be safe than sorry.

He situates himself on his bed, his laptop sitting readily on his lap for him to begin his research. Just as he opens a new tab to begin, there's a knock on his door. “Come in,” he calls.

It squeaks open and Jennifer steps in, smiling. “May I?” she asks, and he gives her a short nod. She enters the room and crosses to his bed in long, elegant strides, perching herself next to him.

She's quiet, for a moment, and he takes the time to observe her. She looks exhausted. It's as if the weight of Farkle's announcement has taken a thirty-year toll on her, making the bags under her eyes more pronounced and heavy. Still, though, she's the most beautiful woman Farkle has ever known. Her air is one of elegance and regality; she carries herself with the dignity of a senator's wife. Her arms and legs are strong from when she played tennis up until she had Farkle, and her mouth, as always, is painted a bright red. She looks as if she's debating with herself, and must reach a conclusion when, finally, she speaks.

“So,” she says. “A hero, huh?”

He gives her an amused glance and replies, “Looks like it.”

His mother raises a hand, as if to put it on his shoulder or lightly caress his face, then drops it. Then she says, “It won't be easy, you know.”

He raises a brow. “Which part? The saving the world part, the moving away part…?”

She chuckles at that, a sort of humorless laugh, and wraps her arms around herself. “All of it,” she says. Then she glances at him, a sad smile dancing on her lips. “But I meant the normal life part. The family part. The…” She drifts off, but suddenly unfurls her arms and reaches out for him. He immediately offers his hand, and she takes his wrist, pointing to the words there. _I was worried about you._ “This part.”

Farkle nods as she lets his wrist drop, curling her arms back into their position. He glances at her and, as if she’s a telepath, his mom huffs and continues. “Your dad and I are different,” she says simply. “We would never have met if he hadn't come to the hospital that day. If he hadn't… hurt himself so badly.” She clears her throat.

A million thoughts roll to the tip of his tongue. He wants to say _So how are you different?_ He wants to say _What about Zephyr and Seer?_ He doesn't say either. Instead, he says, “Well… what if this is my path to meet them?”

She swallows. “What if it isn't?”

For a moment, he considers that possibility of him making the wrong choice, of leading himself away from his own soulmate. What if he never meets them? What if he's alone forever? So many what if's, but he refuses to ask himself: _so what?_ “I would rather be a hero without a soulmate than a bystander with one,” he says quietly.

His mother hums. She's never been one for expressing her emotions outright - none of them have. So he hears the words she dares not say in that small hum. _You're my son,_ she says, _and I want you to be happy. And it is so, so hard for me to let you make a decision where you may not be happy. A decision where you might hurt yourself, or even destroy yourself. I need you to understand how hard it is to let you go._ But she doesn't say that. Instead, she bumps his shoulder with hers and says, “That's very brave of you.”

He grins and, for the first time in a long time, says the first thing that comes to mind. “Thanks. I got that from my mom.”

She smiles so brightly it's nearly blinding. Then she reaches up and slings an arm around his shoulder, a blissful moment of contentment.

\--

The next few days run by faster than Lightning himself.

Friday is as normal as can possibly be. It is completely ordinary and mundane; no one takes more notice of him, he is assigned the same amount of homework as always, he sits with Dave and Yogi at lunch. The only thing potentially out of the ordinary is that he's never seen both Dave and Yogi so excited about something. They're both practically shaking with excitement when he sees them, waiting for him at their regular table. Yogi waves, grandiose in his movements, and Dave shoots him a bright smile. Farkle raises his eyebrows as he approaches and subsequently sits. “There he is!” Yogi cheers. Farkle swears if he looks closely enough, he could count all of Yogi's teeth through his grin. “The man of the hour. How you feeling, hero?”

Farkle smiles. “Pretty great,” he answers, and is shocked to find that he means it. Both his parents and his friends are thrilled with his decision, and though his stomach is filled with fluttering nervous anticipation, he can't help but be excited. A thrum of energy pulses through him as the hours get closer and closer to the end of the day, and the days get closer to Monday--just this once, he gets the feeling that the energy has nothing to do with his powers. “I'm mostly just nervous and excited.”

Dave chuckles, and picks up his pre-packed gluten-free peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “That's normal, I think,” he says. “I would be more worried if you weren't nervous.” He sniffs the sandwich then, if only just remembering he doesn't like jelly, pushes it over to Yogi. Yogi, in turn, reaches out to his tray wordlessly, and hands Dave a fruit cup and a chicken-wrap-sans-cheese that he certainly hadn't planned on eating. Dave's eyes light up and he quickly unwraps it and begins devouring it.

Farkle wonders what it'll be like without him here. Will they continue, just like this? Will it be awkward? It's been the three of them, a Dave-Farkle-Yogi three-point triad, for so long. Sure, Dave and Yogi are soulmates, there's no denying that. But they never hang out without him--not that he knows of, anyway. Then again, he guesses he wouldn't know if it was, well, without him.

His head is beginning to hurt.

He watches as Yogi scarfs down the peanut butter sandwich with vigor, and then points at him. “Farkle,” he says, his voice thick through the sticky substance holding his mouth closed. “You're free after today.”

“Assuming everything goes well,” Dave cuts in, peeling open his fruit cup.

“No more Billy Ross--”

“Assuming he doesn't become a supervillain.”

“No more gym class--”

“But vigorous exercising all the same.”

“No more homework from Mrs. Henderson--”

“Although your schooling will probably continue.”

The tennis-like banter breaks as Yogi peels away some offending crust from his sandwich and Dave picks at the fruit and pops what looks like a tangerine into his mouth. Farkle thinks that this is perhaps what he will miss the most--the witty back and forth between the two, the funny little ways they interact. The intricacies of their love story. (And Farkle can only assume it is a love story, because, in the end, no matter whether romantic or platonic, love holds them together like thick stitches. It glues their hands together, fingertip to fingertip, reaching all the way across no matter the gap. It should make Farkle feel lonely, or forlorn. It doesn't.)

“I'll miss you,” he says fondly, before he has the chance to think.

Dave pulls the fork from his mouth and Yogi puts his sandwich down. They exchange a small, fond glance, then round the table to each sit on either side of Farkle. “We'll miss you too,” Dave promises.

“More than you'll ever know,” Yogi agrees.

Everyone else in the cafeteria has the grace to ignore them.

\--

Monday hits Farkle like a punch to the gut. He wakes up earlier than his father asked him to in order to get some training in. In the interest of time, he spends the hour eliciting various emotions in himself in order to float, invisibly, around the room, making force fields around random objects as he goes. (Much to his chagrin, nothing can be done about the healing. It is, thankfully, his most used and practiced power, but he isn't going to hurt himself in the interest of testing it this morning.) By the time his father arrives to wake him, half the room is encased in blue spheres, protecting them from the nothingness around them. Stuart smiles. “You ready?” he asks.

Farkle isn't sure he'll ever be ready. He nods.

He follows his father out of the apartment and to the elevator, on which he spends the lengthy ride bouncing on the balls of his feet. His father gives him an amused and worried glance, and there's something else behind his eyes. (Regret? Fear? Pride?) Farkle chooses not to question it--not out loud. Instead, he follows his father out of the elevator to the car and climbs inside, ducking his head. He concentrates his nervous energy into bouncing his leg, a little thing that he's sure Stuart does not notice, and keeps his eyes on the floor of the car, tracing the pattern in the carpeting with his eyes.

The drive to the YSL headquarters is fairly short. Farkle supposes it made sense; the heroes had to live close by in order to be on call, after all. But once he looks more closely at the building, he can't help but ask, “Are you sure we're at the right place?”

His father chuckles lightly, but doesn't respond. Instead, he heads in through the front doors, a bell jingling above his head. Farkle casts a last worried glance at the sign reading “TOOTH HURTY! DOCTOR PHILLIP GOLDMAN'S OFFICE” before following him in.

The room they enter looks like any other dentist's waiting office; there are old, worn down blue chairs around the room, a large TV mounted on the wall playing sitcom reruns, a child's play area in the center, magazine stacks off to the side. In the middle of the room in the front is a large desk and station area, the word “RECEPTION” written in bright white letters above it. A beautiful blonde woman sits behind the desk, her hair tied up behind her, typing away on her computer. Farkle can see the scrubs she wears peeking out just over into his line of sight, and a box of gloves sit on the top of the desk. Farkle glances at his father. “Did you bring me here to trick me into going to the dentist?” he whispers.

At his voice, the blonde woman whips her head up to look at them. Her eyes widen in recognition and surprise when she sees Stuart, but she quickly schools her face into one of poised hospitality. “Gentlemen,” she says, as brightly as she dare. “What can I do for you today?”

Stuart glances at Farkle and then winks. It's unsettling, but Farkle has been learning all kinds of new things about his father these past few months. “Yes,” Stuart says, walking forward towards the woman and with Farkle close behind. “I have an appointment to see Doctor Stark. He should be expecting me.”

Farkle gives his father an odd look, because he sounds like a crazy person, but the woman's face crumbles into relief. “Stuart,” she says warmly, and now it's Farkle's turn to look on in surprise. “It's good to see you again.”

“And you,” Stuart replies, just as warm. He glances behind him and holds out an arm, gesturing to Farkle. “This is my son, Farkle.”

He steps forward, out stretching his right hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”

She looks at his hand and winces, her face a scrunched frown. “I would, but the arm is on the fritz today.” She offers her left hand instead, and Farkle, though confused, shakes with his own left. “Wow, a legacy. I mean, Cory told me, but I didn't believe it.” She gives Farkle a bright smile. “You must be a very talented young man, just like your father.”

A part of him, a very large part, preens at being compared to his father. He feels his metaphorical feathers raise in a show of pride, his colors leaking through his very face. Another part of him, though, is still confused. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Oh,” Stuart says abruptly, shaking himself. “Excuse me--Farkle, this is Mrs. Hunter.”

“You can call me Katy,” she cuts in, shooting Stuart a playful warning glance. “Mrs. Hunter is a fairly new title I probably won't respond to.”

Stuart scoffs, but continues anyway. “ _Katy_ joined our organization several years ago, and has been helping to keep our company hidden and security strict ever since.”

“Okay, well, the heroes do the security. I just keep the joint password protected.”

Stuart chuckles, and Farkle smiles. She seems like such a normal woman. He wonders what a girl like her did to end up in a place like this. So he asks, “How did you begin working for the YSL?”

His father's expression quickly darkens, and he glances between Farkle and Katy. Katy's face only flickers for a moment to pain as she registers the question, and then she continues smiling. He almost thinks he imagined the change entirely. “I was in an incident,” she says, “before the War. I was banged up so badly that it damaged my arm, shoulder, and the upper right part of my skull. I was as good as dead… until Commander Feeny found me.” Her smile becomes soft, and she ducks her eyes to the desk in front of her. “He took my body and refurbished it. He was always a tinkerer, that Feeny, and he saved my life.” She shakes the memory loose and reopens her eyes, looking up at Farkle with only slightly glassy eyes. “Anyway, I've been working here ever since. I mean, free room and board and access to the technology I need. Speaking of which, I should actually charge up my arm now. Want to see?”

Though he knows that, according to societal customs, he should abstain, the desperate curiosity within him only grows every second. He nods quickly, and Katy grins at him. She reaches up with a gloved left hand and rolls up the white sleeve sticking out from her scrubs. As she rolls, more and more of her skin is revealed--until it is no longer skin, and the pale lines of flesh are swallowed up by sleek, silver metal. There is what looks like a charging port on her shoulder blade, but otherwise the metal is completely smooth and sleek.

“Holy shit,” Farkle says.

Behind him, he distantly hears Stuart choke, but Katy laughs. “Pretty cool, huh?” she asks. “The flesh on my forearm and face is synthetic. Feeny's design. The arm used to not be covered at all--it was all metal. But that was back when our place was a telemarketer service and my interface was just hooked up to the phone all day. When people got suspicious and we had to change locations, Cory recreated the synthetic skin and covered up the lower half that wouldn't be covered by the uniform.” With that, she reaches down below the desk and pulls out a long thick wire, plugging one end into her bicep with ease. “Think it needs updates. This should fix it.” After a moment, she looks up at them both and smiles again, looking as carefree as she had before. “Anyway, didn't mean to hold you up. You know where Doctor Stark's office is, Stuart--see yourself in.”

Stuart gives her a quick and thankful nod, and then turns to head down the hallway. Farkle glances after him, but he can't help but stop and turn to Katy. “Thank you so much,” he says. “It was nice meeting you.”

She looks slightly taken aback, but she grins all the same. “You too!” she says cheerfully, and with that, he turns and follows his father.

They get as far out of earshot as he dares, and then Farkle says, “So she's--”

“A cyborg,” his father confirms.

“That is--”

“Totally cool?”

Farkle feels his own face split into a grin. “Yeah.”

Something in Stuart's face as he leads them down the hallway looks oddly smug. He never imagined Stuart as the type of father who wanted to partake in a Take Your Kid to Work Day, but, following in his footsteps on the journey through the same halls Stuart had walked for years, Farkle thinks that perhaps it was _exactly_ what he'd wanted, if not needed. Stuart's back is straight yet relaxed, his smile a permanent fixture to his face. On some level, he may even be enjoying this.

They walk down the hallway and then an adjacent left hallway before coming across a small, shoddy elevator with an “OUT OF ORDER” sign on it. Farkle assumes this is some sort of elaborate ruse like the office setup--and he's proven right when his father simply reaches for the up and down buttons. He presses them in sequence--up, up, down, up, down--and then holds them both down. The elevator dings, and the fire alarm that had been sitting next to Farkle's head pops open. He jumps, but Stuart merely reaches out for it. Farkle doesn't know why he's surprised to find a fingerprint scanner inside.

Stuart presses his index finger to the awaiting green pad, and then watches as the elevator door pops open. He gestures Farkle inside, then follows quickly after him, and turns to the numbered key pad inside. Instead of reaching for the numbers, though, Stuart presses the stop elevator button once, then twice. The doors slide closed and then, finally, they begin a steady descent.

After a beat or two, Farkle and his father exchange a glance. Farkle simply says, “That was awesome.” Stuart beams.

The rest of the ride down is spent mostly in silence, Farkle too busy bouncing with nervous anticipation to carry out a lengthy discussion. It seems to be the longest elevator ride of his life. At first he thinks it's because of nerves, but then he realizes he isn't sure exactly how far they're going underground. He's quite sure it's far more than just basement level. He wonders how they got the funding to build five… ten… twenty stories underground. Did the government fund this tower? Perhaps one of the heroes personally funded it?

Eventually, the elevator slows to a stop. “Thank you for flying with us, Medulla,” an animatronic voice says suddenly, and Farkle jumps. Where had that come from? He looks around them, to the floor, and then to the ceiling. He doesn't see a speaker anywhere.

Stuart laughs rather boisterously, and replies, “Thank you, Missy. I'll be seeing you in there, I suppose?”

And then, as if Farkle could not be anymore surprised, the interface _scoffs._ “Please,” it replies, “like I would miss a single important meeting. There's not a thing to do up here in the cloud, and besides, I love gossip.”

With that, the door pops open, and Stuart leads them both out into a long, black, sleek hallway. Farkle, stunned, follows behind, but quickly turns to his father with wide and impressed eyes. “Missy is the team's artificial intelligence system,” Stuart explains as they stride down the hall. “Her name stands for Mutual Information System for the Superbly Young. Cory--er, The Seer's daughter developed her while she was still in high school to help her father keep things organized. Nightshade and Levita have both done some tinkering to her overtime, as she used to be downright nasty, but we've all grown quite fond of her. Now she's friendly and helpful, but still sassy and kind of a gossip.”

Suddenly, his father stumbles, though quickly catches himself, and Farkle turns to see a small raised bit of floor that hadn't been there before sink into the floor. “I heard that,” Missy sing songs. “Hurry along to your meeting before I become _downright nasty_ again.”

Stuart rolls his eyes but, even so, walks a little faster down the hallway. Farkle, meanwhile, has only been in the building for five minutes and is already completely baffled.

When they come to the end, Stuart turns to the door on his right and knocks--four, quick in succession, followed by a pause and then one more. “Come in,” someone says, and then Stuart opens the door. And they are faced by the two greatest heroes of their generations.

Seer sits behind a desk, his head held high and a light smile gracing his face. He looks good-natured and friendly, with curly brown hair and soft cheeks. His informal attire is what throws Farkle off the most, though. His mask is gone, the dark-tinted eye covering he typically wears cast aside for a free and clear face. His black cloak and navy blue spandex are traded for a casual blazer and button up. He looks like a typical American father out of uniform, which Farkle supposes he is. In front of him, his desk is cluttered with pictures--some of Zephyr, although she looks different without the mask adorning her face, and some of two children, one of whom must be Nightshade. The other looks very similar to Seer himself; his eyes are bright and cheeks are rounded. Farkle would even go as far as to say that he was a cute child. He reminded him, for some reason, of Ava.

Then, standing just behind Seer is whom Farkle can only assume is The Warp. Though the tight-fitting green suit and the cowl are gone, his sharp cheekbones and scruffy beard still stick out as trademarks to his heroism. His face is turned down in a slight scowl, and his arms are crossed over his chest almost defiantly. He looks petulant, Farkle decides, almost on the verge of a temper tantrum. Perhaps he's simply worried, or upset. He can't say for sure.

As soon as he lays eyes on them, Seer's eyes brighten considerably. “Minkus,” he says to Stuart. Then he turns to Farkle and adds, “Minkui, actually. Take a seat.”

While Farkle pulls close to a chair, Stuart steps across the room and shakes Seer's hand, and then The Warp's. Farkle follows suit quickly after. Seer's hands are warm and kind, and The Warp's are calloused and rough. He smiles politely at both men before sitting down.

There's a pause as Seer seemingly assesses them both. Then, he says, “So, down to business, shall we?” and taps a button on his desk.

Suddenly, the priorly blank wall opens up behind him to show a large television screen. Farkle blinks, impressed. The screen flickers to life, and suddenly, Farkle is watching himself. He is in the stark white of the testing room, and he’s gallivanting around it just as he had in the city simulation. “Do you recall this event, Mister Minkus?” Seer asks.

It takes Farkle a moment to realize he's speaking to him. “Oh, uh, yes sir.”

Seer's eyes cut to The Warp, who gives him a small nod. Seer nods in return and then continues. “Have you ever used any superbly enhancing drugs?”

Farkle blinks. “I hadn't even known those existed until the testing day, sir,” he replies honestly.

The Warp nods once again. Farkle wonders if he's confirming his words, and if he is, how so. The Warp's abilities deal with time and the manipulation of it; there is no possible way for him to read Farkle's mind.

Seer clicks his tongue. “You see, Mister Minkus, we just have a few questions. No one has gotten scores this high on this test in years. Not since Zephyr. And before that--”

“Not since Feeny,” The Warp says. It's the first time he's spoken since their arrival, and both of the Minkuses instantly look to him. Seer, however, seems unbothered, as if they had practiced this bit before their arrival. It's highly possible, Farkle supposes. Or maybe, at this point, they just finish each other's sentences naturally. “So you have to understand us being a little suspect. It's not every day that a young man with four powers such as yourself walks through our doors.”

“Speaking of your powers,” Seer picks up quickly, toying with a pen sitting at the edge of his desk, “there are so many and they are so unique. Have you found any connection?”

This part… he thinks about it for a moment, and decides to throw out Dave's theory. “I think each of my powers is triggered by a specific emotion,” he speculates. “So far, fear, pride, anger, and protectiveness are the main emotions I use. Although it could be a more intricate explanation, that's what I've been theorizing.” As an afterthought, he turns to The Warp. “And it is understandable that you would suspect me of cheating. Thank you, though, for verifying my word. I haven't figured out how you're doing it, but I appreciate it all the same.”

That last comment had been a complete gamble, but it seems to work, as The Warp's scowl drops into a face of gentle surprise. He turns to Stuart. “That's a good kid you have there,” he says. “Smart and talented. Are you sure he's Jennifer's though and not a petri dish clone?”

His father seems to take the gentle teasing well, replying with only an eye roll and a light and sarcastic “Ha, ha.” Then, he turns to Seer and raises a brow. “Satisfied, Matthews?”

Seer shrugs, all intimidation from before slipping away. “Enough,” he says, and shrugs before standing from behind his desk. He leans forward and offers his hand once again to Farkle. “Welcome to the Young Super League, sir.”

Stuart stands too, eyebrows raised. “What? No physical tests, no ability cataloging--”

“Did you see that video just then?” Seer says, turning to point at the TV behind him. He presses the button again and the television fades from the walls. “His abilities are clearly mastered. He'll have to learn sparring and combat, surely, but we can have the others teach him. He received a _634,_ Minkus. The highest of all the children on the team. His powers are defensive and not offensive, which rounds off the team dynamic nicely. Of course we want him to join us.”

Farkle is just as, if not more, surprised. He had been training to prepare for this nonstop for the past few days, and had done even more extensive training for the month before that. He was almost a tad disappointed he did not get the chance to prove his abilities to the men across the desk. Then he chides himself, for his hubris is his most dangerous and costly weakness, something he will definitely have to unlearn now.

“Missy, activate protocol Newbie,” The Warp calls out. He turns to Cory and winks. “Levita came up with that one. Girl's a riot.” He calls out to Farkle then, “Oh, by the way, enough with this ‘sir’ crap. He's Mister Cory Matthews, and I'm Shawn.” He pauses and adds, “Mister Hunter, if you're weird about it.”

Farkle's eyes widen, and he asks, “Mister Matthews as in--?”

“Captain Awesome,” Seer--Cory cuts in, nodding. “That's my father. He’s the one who sent us your test scores, actually.” In the background, Stuart scoffs, as if he's not surprised by this news, but Cory continues nonplussed. “Flame, Eric Matthews, is my brother. My daughter is Nightshade, my youngest brother has powers as well--it runs in the family.”

“And Mister Hunter, as in…?” He expects Shawn to cut in, but he merely raises an eyebrow, so Farkle continues, “As in Katy, the woman at the front desk?”

Instantly, Shawn beams. For some reason, he expects it to look shark-like, but it's more charming than anything. Farkle likes it. “Ah, yes,” he says, “my wife. She’s lovely, isn't she? The sweetest. I thought you would bring up my brother, Jack. He was on the council you tested with as well.”

Ah. That's why Farkle got slimy from him initially.

Suddenly, Missy speaks. “Protocol Newbie initiated,” she says, sounding bored. “The nerds are gathered in the relaxation area.”

Shawn rolls his eyes, and mutters something about a future reprogramming, before opening a door on the far right wall. He walks through it, Cory close behind. Farkle exchanges a short glance with his father, who merely shrugs, before they both start towards the door.

This hallway is also sleek and black, but provides more insight into the rooms within. Large windows line the wall. In one room, one much larger than any room Farkle had ever stepped foot in, were various training dummies, punching bags, large tires, and a track around the room. It seemed like a smaller but incredibly similar arena to that which Farkle, Yogi, and Dave had spied on when this whole rigmarole had began. The next room over is a library, larger and more expansive than Stuart's own. The oil lamp is still lit, and a blanket is strewn on the floor with a mug set on the side table, so he assumes someone was just there.

Just a room over is what seems to be a greenhouse. The plants within are seemingly healthy and incredibly grown, some overly so. A comically large venus flytrap sits in the corner, and seems to look dead at Farkle, almost as if it's licking its lips in anticipation or hunger. Farkle quickly looks away to the room across the hall, but quickly finds that there's not much to look at. It is a completely white room with white walls and ceilings and floors, so meticulously clean that it looks as if it’s shining, a stark contrast to the slick black of the hallway.

Shawn leads the small group of four all the way down to the end of the hallway, where large double doors await them. Shawn throws them open abruptly, and Farkle, though unsure why, is surprised and starstruck at what he sees.

The entire Young Super League as it stands currently is gathered into a small huddle in front of a long, black couch. They are all in casual clothes, mostly bright and patterned ones, and they pay no mind to the squeak of the open door.

Cory clears his throat. “Guys,” he says, “I would like you to meet your new teammate: Farkle.”

They all turn at once, and it's incredible that you can recognize people without ever having seen their face.

The farthest on the left has long, dark brown hair, and is dressed in a pastel lilac shirt and a plain black skirt. Though it is hard to see it without her tight ponytail, her purple suit, and the black masquerade mask, it is easy to see that this is Nightshade. She offers him a small smile with pink-painted lips, and waves with one long and gangly limb, the other tucked in the pocket of her skirt.

The boy next to her is perhaps the easiest to spot. He has always stood out from the others with his rich brown skin and curly hair, no matter how he tries to cover it with a mask that covers the entire upper half of his face. Lightning gives him a small nod in greeting, and Farkle notes that the bright blue of his flannel oddly matches that of his uniform.

Black hair down to her waist, a formally pressed green corduroy skirt, a black sweater, sensibly flat shoes--Levita dresses in casual clothes exactly as one would expect her to, even matching the color scheme to her usual superhero outfit. Though there are glasses perched on the tip of her nose (whether designed on purpose to throw other off of her secret identity or to enhance her powers in some way, or genuinely to help her see, Farkle does not know), they remind him oddly of the tinted goggles she wears. She, too, nods, but almost as an afterthought.

Mirage looks the same as usual, perhaps more than the others. His orange sweater fits tightly to the defined muscles of his body, much like his jumpsuit, and now Farkle is wondering if they all color-coordinated with their outfits on purpose or if they just all love the colors they were assigned. His face is kind and friendly, but his eyes are still sad, something Farkle has never been able to unsee in the young hero. The only large difference is the lack of a bright blue mask around his eyes, and the fact that his wavy brown hair is down and around his face and no longer in the small ponytail he usually has it in. He says and does nothing, merely continues observing Farkle.

The last in line is Black Shroud. Even without the stark red and black of her costume and mask, she looks intimidating. Her arms, clad in the long sleeves of her maroon dress, are crossed over her chest. Her blonde hair comes down around her face in waves. Instead of a greeting, she merely raises an eyebrow at him. Farkle is terrified of her, for some reason.

After a long pause, Nightshade steps forward, her arm outstretched. “Hi,” she says kindly. Her voice is different than how Farkle had thought it would be; more calm and leveled and… wise? Perhaps beyond her years. “I’m Riley.”

Farkle nods and smiles. “Farkle,” he says, even though Cory had just introduced him. He feels kind of stupid, but he also doesn’t know what else to do or say.

After Riley drops his hand, she turns to her teammates. “Well?” she says, after a moment or two of silence. “Guys?”

Black Shroud rolls her eyes, but comes forward anyway. The other three instantly look less hesitant. “Maya,” she says gruffly. Her hand is quick and rough when shaking, and Farkle finds himself jolted by it. “Codename's Black Shroud.”

“Uh,” Farkle says, unsure of both himself and how to respond, “yes, cool.” Maya rolls her eyes, but says nothing.

It's then that Lightning steps up, now smiling. “Hey man,” he says, and his voice is smooth like velvet. “Name's Isaiah, but you can call me Zay.”

Up close, Farkle notes distantly, Zay js incredibly attractive. He blushes upon contact, he knows, but he prays Zay can't see it. “Nice to meet you.”

Mirage shuffles forward, his orange sweater sleeves pulled up and over his hands. “Charlie,” he says quietly, nodding to Farkle. Farkle simply nods back.

Finally, Levita follows suit, delivering a firm and strong handshake. “Isadora Smackle,” she says, and again, her voice is different than he expects. Higher, somehow, maybe lighter. “The team calls me Smackle. The chances I will respond to ‘Isadora’ are incredibly small.”

“Noted,” Farkle says quickly.

There's a clap to his shoulder. He looks up to see Cory giving him a large smile. “You've met the team,” he says cheerfully. “Now it's time to get to work.”

He looks around at his newfound team members, all of whom look away from him in some way or another. After the less than enthusiastic welcome, Farkle is unsure whether or not he wants to know what ‘work’ entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so. welcome back to hell. i told you this wasn't abandoned and i was just in fact slow! sorry if the ending feels a little rushed lmao. for some reason i just had this idea implanted in my head and i needed to get it all out so the cory/shawn meeting feels maybe a little rushed. also i have done some tweaking to the end of this story so.... we'll see how that goes! more tags will definitely need to be added as we go. anyway, thank you for reading as always, and i love you all, and. yah.


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